


A Study in Marriage

by benaddictedtosherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry John, Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Honeymoon, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealousy, Long, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Separation, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Wedding Fluff, marriage problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benaddictedtosherlock/pseuds/benaddictedtosherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once the rings have been exchanged and the vows have been said, Sherlock and John are ready to settle down and get their fill of the domestic bliss that so often comes with marriage. Unfortunately, nothing is ever that simple for them... and they know the honeymoon period can't last forever. They'd promised each other "for better or for worse", but John had no idea just how bad 'worse' could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read 'A Study in Love', view this as the sequel to that.  
> If you have not read it, this fic works fine as a stand-alone story. Seriously, you won't miss out on anything.  
> This is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If anyone wants to be a beta for this please let me know. :)  
> I own nothing except the storyline. Feel free to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

It's amazing to think how much can change in such a short amount of time. Not too long ago John Watson was an invalidated army doctor with a bad shoulder and a psychosomatic limp, he had a drunkard for a sister and and no promising future ahead of him, and his love life had been nonexistent. No one wanted to get involved with damaged goods with so much baggage even he couldn't carry it all. John's existence after returning home had been a dismal one, but fortunately that torture hadn't lasted for long.

Now, John was in pretty good shape and had a steady job at the local surgery with a decent salary, and could afford to send his sister to rehab. He had more friends now than he could count, and, as of several days ago, he was the fiancé of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. John considered that to be his proudest accomplishment. He'd invaded Afghanistan and saved countless lives, but those things failed to bring him the same amount of joy that he'd felt when Sherlock had 'popped the question'.

John twisted his silver engagement ring around his finger with a smile on his face as he stared out the back window of the car they were in. Sherlock had fallen asleep a while ago and was currently dribbling on John's shoulder. John stared down at him with a smile and made a mental note to thank Mycroft for sending a car and driver to bring them back to Baker Street after the incident they'd had at a petrol station in Sussex. After the accident they'd had on their first attempt to get to Sherlock's cottage that had resulted in a totaled car and a broken leg for John, and now this, John was seriously starting to suspect Sherlock had some sort of personal vendetta against rental cars.

Sherlock shifted, bringing his left hand to rest on John's thigh and burying his face in the crook of John's neck. His ring gleamed in the sunlight that managed to filter through the car's tinted windows, and John smiled. He placed his hand over Sherlock's and patted it gently.

Sherlock groaned and burrowed further into John, snaking his long arm around John's middle, and John laughed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Sherlock just groaned again, not awake enough to verbalise a complaint. "When's the last time you had any sleep?"

"Does it matter?" Sherlock's words were slurred due to his drowsiness and his voice was muffled by John's skin, making it hard for him to sound truly angry. John smiled an affectionate smile and moved Sherlock so that his head was resting in his lap. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, and he gave a contented sigh. "How much longer until we're back in London?"

"Maybe twenty minutes." Sherlock yawned, causing John to yawn, and he twirled an ebony curl around one finger. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we get there." John ran a thumb over one of Sherlock's prominent cheekbones and hoped that he'd be able to stay awake for twenty minutes. Sherlock's face relaxed and his breathing slowed, and for a moment John simply watched him, marveling at how gorgeous the man sleeping in his lap was. The last thing on his mind before his eyelids grew heavy and he lost the will to fight sleep was how happy he was to be able to call this gorgeous man his fiancé.

Twenty minutes later John was awakened by the sound of a door opening, followed by the harsh light of a bright afternoon sun shining on his face. Sherlock sat up while John rubbed at his eyes and climbed over him to get out the car. Once John exited he allowed himself a good stretch before retrieving his and Sherlock's luggage from the boot of the car, then began hauling the suitcases to the door, where Sherlock was waiting with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

"Nope, don't need any help," he said. "I've got it." Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled.

"Have you got the keys?"

"You don't?"

"Mine were in the rental car when it... when it..."

"You mean when you made it blow up?" Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and glared at John.

"That was not my fault." John put down the bag he was holding in his right hand and dug his keys out of the pocket of his jeans.

"Whatever you say, love." John glanced up at Sherlock when he said this; He loved the way Sherlock's face lit up whenever John called him 'love'. He handed the keys to Sherlock so he could open the door, then grabbed the bag he'd put down and followed him inside.

"We're back Mrs. Hudson!" John called out as he shut the door behind him. Sherlock dashed up the stairs, but John waited in case Mrs. Hudson wanted to come out and greet them.

"Oh, that's great. Just give me a moment and I'll be right up to greet you properly!"

John ascended the stairs then and dropped the suitcases off in their bedroom. Sherlock had already removed his coat and scarf by the time John came out into the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson joined them several moments later and after a brief greeting and series of hugs the three of them stood in a sort of triangle just inside the flat, with John standing a bit closer to Sherlock than Mrs. Hudson.

"So, how was Sussex?"

"It was marvelous," Sherlock said, sending a knowing smile in John's direction, and when their eyes met John smiled too. Sherlock brought his left arm to rest on John's shoulders, and John brought his hand up to interlace his fingers with Sherlock's. Mrs. Hudson's eyes followed the movement and after a brief moment of confusion her eyes lit up and she smiled warmly at the two of them.

"Oh, really?" John nodded his head, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock doing the same.

"Yeah," he said, "soon Mrs. Turner won't be the only landlady on Baker Street with married ones."

"Oh that's great! I'm so happy for you boys!"

John smiled and accepted a hug from his landlady, then left Sherlock alone with Mrs. Hudson for a bit while he went to their bedroom to unpack. He was just finishing with his own clothing when Sherlock came in through the door, an exasperated look on his face.

"My god that woman can talk," he said. "I had no idea there were so many different ways to say congratulations."

"Yes you did."

"Of course I did. I just wasn't aware that Mrs. Hudson did."John chuckled and opened Sherlock's suitcase. The thought crossed his mind to ask Sherlock to unpack his own things, but he thought better of it and started on it himself. Behind him Sherlock sat on the bed and removed his shoes, then placed them on the floor beside where John was. John glanced over his shoulder and received a wink from Sherlock before he turned and walked out of the room.

John finished unpacking and emerged from the bedroom some minutes later to find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, face buried into one of the cushions. He stood in the entryway between the living room and kitchen for a moment, watching his new fiancé with a distracted smile on his face, then turned and set about making them some tea. As lovely as Sherlock's cottage was this time of year, he had missed this flat and their tea kettle immensely.

Sherlock must have sensed that John was making tea, because before the water even started boiling John felt his presence behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Sherlock standing directly behind him, forehead almost resting on John's shoulder as he busied himself with his phone. John opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, but Sherlock, the avid mind reader as always, began speaking before John could say one word.

"I'm texting Lestrade to let him know we're back." John smiled, but didn't say anything. He knew how badly Sherlock was itching to get back to work, and honestly, he was too. He didn't tell Sherlock this but John was hoping Lestrade would already have something good for him. It had been a while since his last good adrenaline rush, not including the way he'd felt when Sherlock had proposed.

The kettle sang and John made both Sherlock and himself a cup of tea, handing Sherlock his before heading into the sitting room and sinking down into his armchair with his own steaming cup. Sherlock made his way to his armchair, and their knees knocked together as he slid down in the seat. John tried to remember when they'd moved their chairs so close together, but his thinking was cut short when Sherlock have an exuberant shout and nearly lept from his seat. It was surprising that he managed not to spill a single drop of tea, but then again he was always impossibly graceful.

Sherlock carried his cup with him into the kitchen, and John heard the clink of him placing it on the counter before disappearing into their bedroom. John took a sip of his own beverage, then stood to retrieve his coat. A reaction as enthusiastic as that could only mean one thing: a case.

John stood by the door and waited for Sherlock to finish putting on his shoes, and when he finally emerged he smiled at John and they left the flat.

An hour later John was standing behind Sherlock as he was crouched over a pile of rubbish, examining it as if he were a curator at a museum and the trash was some priceless work of art. Lestrade was standing several metres off supervising a Scotland Yard worker who was inspecting another pile.

John noticed Sherlock tugging at his finger and then he was holding his ring out towards John.

"Here."

"Erm, what's this? You haven't changed your mind, have you?" He asked, only half kidding. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but John saw the hint of a smile on Sherlock's lips and relaxed.

"Don't be absurd, John. In my haste to leave the flat I forgot to grab my gloves, and I'd rather not have anything happen to this while I'm searching through this filth."

"Right." John took the ring and held it between his forefinger and thumb, inspecting it while Sherlock proceeded to dig through the pile before him. The ring was warm, and only a little smaller than John's. Though Sherlock's hands were much larger than John's and his fingers were longer as well, the digits were quite slender and so he actually had a the smaller ring size of the two. It was a good thing Sherlock had purchased the rings; John had always thought his own fingers were smaller.

"Oi, what's that then?" Lestrade called out as he walked over. "Have you found something?" John could hear the derisive snort Sherlock gave even with his back turned.

"No Gavin, John is just holding my ring." John turned to Lestrade with a sympathetic look on his face, but the Detective Inspector just waved his hand in the air and shook his head.

"What ring?" He asked, leaning towards John to get a better look.

"My engagement ring."

"Your what?" John turned his head to smile at Lestrade and received a puzzled stare in response. He gave John a quick once-over before he spoke again, turning to look down at Sherlock. "You mean, you and him are.."

"Yes, John and I are engaged to be married. Do try to keep up."

"I, uh, well I knew you two were..." He cleared his throat. "I didn't know it was so serious though." John just nodded his head, and Lestrade have him a friendly pat on the back. "Well congratulations."

"Thanks." A few moments of silence passed with Sherlock meticulously picking through discarded bottles and stray pieces of paper and plastic, John watching Sherlock when he wasn't staring at Sherlock's ring, and Lestrade looking back and forth between the two of them with a strange sort of smile on his face. John could hear every time he shifted his feet, and he could practically feel the curiosity radiating off of the man. He supposed all the time he spent with Sherlock was causing an improvement in his observational powers. Lestrade took a step closer to John and lowered his voice a bit.

"So, did you ask him?" John looked down at the Sherlock the same time Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder at John, and they both smiled, silently agreeing to keep that bit of information a secret. Why, John had no idea, but he loved the way Sherlock's eyes had lit up when he saw the agreement on John's face. Lestrade sighed, but John saw the smile on his face before he turned around to go talk to Sergeant Donovan. John came closer to Sherlock and crouched down beside him.

"Any luck?"

"No, but we know the bracelet's got to be here. There's-"

"How the hell is that freak engaged before me?" Both John and Sherlock turned in the direction that Donovan's disbelieving voice had come from. She was staring slack jawed at the two of them, and John felt something in his stomach twist. Even after all this time and after everything Sherlock had done for Scotland Yard, she still treated him so horribly. She acted as if he weren't even human, calling him all sorts of names like Sherlock was incapable of having his feelings hurt. Sherlock always brushed her off and acted as if he didn't care what she said to or about him, but John could tell her jeering stung occasionally, and he was tired of having to see the man he loved wounded by such petty words. He stood up and squared his shoulders, glaring at Sergeant Donovan who stood several meters away.

"Maybe it's because unlike you Sherlock didn't decide to sleep with a married man, for starters. He's a great person and a decent human being who doesn't feel the need to denigrate someone's engagement or ruin a relationship to make himself feel better about his lackluster love life." Though John almost immediately regretted his harsh words as soon as he'd said them, the scandalized look on Donovan's face was priceless, and he supposed it couldn't have been all bad with the way Sherlock was looking at him. The corner of his mouth had lifted minutely and his eyes had softened a bit. John knew that look all too well; It was a look that said "I love you so much right now but I won't say it", and John was always fine with Sherlock's silence because that look was almost always accompanied with a kiss and sometimes more, depending on where they were.

Unfortunately, Sherlock never had time for romance while working, and so instead of kissing John he just smiled and turned back to the pile of rubbish he was searching. John stood up and stretched his legs, then began pacing while he waited for someone to find the diamond tennis bracelet they were all searching for. Eventually Sherlock gave up and moved to a different pile, and less than a minute later he made a triumphant noise and stood up, directing John and Lestrade's attention to something that was sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

"Someone get some fingerprints from that, and if they match Emilie's sister's, arrest her."

"Got it," Lestrade said, motioning for someone to come over and collect the bracelet. Sherlock stood up, dusted off his hands, then took his ring back from John and slid it onto his finger. John took note of the way Sherlock's eyes lingered on his hand for several moments afterwards, and smiled to himself.

He waited for Sherlock to answer a few questions, and then the two of them were headed to St Bart's so Sherlock could pick up a foot from Molly. John didn't even bother asking what it was for. He climbed into the cab behind Sherlock and tried to hide his disappointment at the austerity of the case, but he knew Sherlock could tell he hadn't exactly been entertained.

"Sorry the case was so dull," Sherlock said as they were riding in the cab. John shrugged, not taking his eyes from the window.

"They can't all be thrilling rooftop chases." Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder, and John carded his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls. "Besides, we've got a lifetime of thrilling cases ahead of us, don't we?" John felt rather than saw Sherlock smile when he buried his face into John's neck, and his breath tickled his skin when he spoke.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

Sherlock sat up straight and they shared a smile as the cab came to a stop. Their meeting with Molly was brief, though John couldn't be sure if it was because Sherlock was excited to bring his new foot home, or because they both were in a hurry to escape the awkwardness that ensued when Molly noticed their new rings. John had a discomforting feeling it was the latter.

Still, the obviously forced smile on Molly's face was the last thing on John's mind as he and Sherlock walked side by side back to Baker Street. No cab had been willing to pick up a man holding a severed foot in a plastic bag, and honestly John couldn't blame them. He could only imagine what they looked like: two blokes holding hands while one of them intently inspects a bag that obviously contained some sort of human body part with a smile on his face. John smiled as well as he watched Sherlock, and had to force down the laughter that was bubbling inside of him. His life was a strange one, that was for sure, but he wouldn't trade any part of it for the world.


	2. An (Un)familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock celebrate their engagement and an old friend makes an unexpected appearance.

Quiet evenings weren't exactly in short supply at 221B Baker Street. Boring evenings, however, were certainly on the rare side. Whether they were going over case notes, watching crap telly, or Sherlock was experimenting in the upstairs bedroom that had now become his study, things were hardly ever "dull", and John was never bored.

Even on days when there was the absence of cases or experiments John managed to busy himself with reading the newspaper or surfing the net. He was using this one particularly calm evening to update his blog and let the world know about his engagement to Sherlock Holmes. He was sure his followers would have a field day with the information, and he figured now was as good a time as any, considering the fact that his and Sherlock's engagement party was that night.

Sherlock was plucking absentmindedly at the strings of his violin while John typed, timing each pluck with the steady click-click-click of the keyboard that John provided, the combination of sounds creating some sort of strange duet. Other than that there was silence, but the silence between them was comfortable, and neither man felt the need to fill it with small talk. John remembered his father telling him many years ago how important it was to find someone who you could spend hours with doing absolutely nothing and never be bored. John glanced over at Sherlock, saw the hint of contentment on Sherlock's otherwise expressionless face, and smiled.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John's face and narrowed, but John just continued to smile at him. Having most likely read John's mind, Sherlock gave a small smile and nodded his head before looking out the window.

"I feel the same way." John chuckled, then went back to his typing. He finished the post several minutes later and went to the kitchen to make some tea. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him as he passed by his chair but kept walking. Sherlock could wait until after he'd had his tea.

John hadn't even picked up the kettle before the violin playing ceased and he heard movement in the sitting room, and by the time he poured the water a pair of long arms were wrapped around his waist and a pair of lips were on his neck.

"What's this?" John asked, going about his business as if his fiancé wasn't currently nibbling at his ear.

"What, a man can't show his new fiancé some affection every now and then?"

"I suppose not. Though, Sherlock Holmes isn't exactly the most affectionate man on Earth." Sherlock sighed, but didn't argue, and John leaned back into him, closing his eyes and resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "So, are you ready for tonight?" Sherlock's response was a noncommittal grunt, and John expected him to pull away. However, he didn't, but instead tightened his hold on John and rested his chin on John's head.

"I still don't see why we have to go."

"It's our engagement party, Sherlock. It wouldn't be very good if the guests of honour failed to show up."

"I don't see why we're even having tho party in the first place."

"Because getting engaged is an event worth celebrating and our friends want to do something nice for us by having a party. We've been over this."

"And yet I still don't understand." John sighed, but there was a smile on his face when he turned around to face Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I know you may not consider his to be a big deal but everyone else does... including me, so I'd really appreciate it if you would be cordial for just one evening and not make me regret saying yes to you." Instantly Sherlock's jaw dropped and he stared at John, who laughed and shook his head. "I'm kidding. I would never regret this." He stretched up to give Sherlock kiss on the cheek and flashed him a warm smile before turning his attention back to the tea. Sherlock left the kitchen then, and several moments later the a canorous violin melody floated in from the sitting room.   
___________________________________

John tugged at the collar of his dress shirt and let out a heavy sigh. The night had been as pleasant as he'd expected, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready for it to be over. In the three hours since he and Sherlock had arrived at the hotel he'd shaken more hands than he could remember and accepted an innumerable number of congratulations.

John was starting to become weary of the onslaught of well-wishers, so he knew Sherlock must have been miserable. Though if he was, he hid it well. He'd remained by John's side with a smile on his face, and was pleasant to everyone he spoke to, including Mycroft, though John had seen the disdain in his eyes when his brother had approached them.

"I must say you're handling this pretty well," he mentioned to Sherlock as they were huddled together in a corner of the ballroom, observing the rest of their guests as they mingled with each other, allowing the happy couple a moment to themselves. Sherlock simply shrugged and stole a shrimp from the plate John was holding.

"I have to be. Wouldn't want you to regret agreeing to marry me." John sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, you know I was kidding." He took a step closer to Sherlock and rested his shoulder against his arm. "I can't wait to be Dr. Holmes-Watson." Sherlock's eyes lit up as he popped the shrimp into his mouth.

"That does have a nice ring to it," he said.

"Of course you would think that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just-"

"Do you think I wanted my last name first because I'm some sort of self centered-"

"Sherlock, we both wanted your name first. It sounds nice, and our names are in alphabetical order, which I knew would appeal to your methodical mind. We discussed this, did we not?" Sherlock's eyes remained glued to the floor.

"We did." John watched him for a moment, then sighed and brought his hand to rest on Sherlock's hip. Sherlock looked up at him and he smiled.

"Sherlock, the most important thing to me is that I'll get to be called your husband. My last name could be Fitzherbert-Jones for all I care. Got it?" The corner of Sherlock's lip switched, and John took that as an answer to his question. "Good. Now, let's go mingle or something." John looked around and caught his friend Ollie's eye from across the room. They waved at each other, and John could feel Sherlock stiffen beside him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing up at Sherlock, who was staring at the back of Ollie's head with a venomous look in his eyes. "Sherlock?"

"I'm fine, John. Though I don't see why he needs to be here."

"Who, Ollie? Well for starters he's one of our groomsmen. You know we went to university together, and since he's moved back to London we've-"

"Yes, yes, I know all that. He's also the one whose house you stayed at when..." he trailed off and sighed, and John understood why. They rarely talked about the brief amount of time John had spent sleeping on Ollie's couch after the particularly heated argument and unexpected kiss that was the culmination of months of tension and miscommunication between them. Even after all this time the memory of it was still a bit sensitive for them, Sherlock especially. However, if John had not gone to stay at Ollie's, Sherlock wouldn't have gone there after him to get him back, and they might not have ever become a couple. However, John was a firm believer in taking the good with the bad, so he had recovered much easier than Sherlock.

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock glanced down at him and seemed to be about to say something until he lifted his eyes and froze completely. John's brow furrowed as he attempted to follow Sherlock's line of sight, and he saw an unfamiliar face coming towards them.

The man appeared to be slightly taller than Sherlock, with kind eyes and a warm smile, and he carried himself with a sort of courtliness John had only seen in men in Victorian era movies and Mycroft Holmes. John turned to Sherlock, hoping to glean some sort of clue from his facial expression as to who this man was, but Sherlock's face was completely blank. However, his voice was uncharacteristically soft when he spoke.

"Victor..." The man's eyes lit up and his smile widened as he finally came to stand before them.

"Sherlock, it's so nice to see you!" He shook Sherlock's hand, then turned and extended his hand towards John, bowing slightly after letting go.

"The name's Victor Trevor. I knew Sherlock a long time ago. It's so nice to meet you, Doctor Watson."

"Call me John." John gave him the friendliest smile he could muster before turning to look up at Sherlock, who had the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

"What on earth are you doing here, Victor?"

"I'm here to celebrate an old friend's engagement, of course."

"But, how- ...Mycroft."

"Bingo," Victor said, tapping his own nose and smiling. He turned to face John and looked him over eyes briefly, as if he were appraising a work of art. "I must say you've done well for yourself, Sherlock. He's quite handsome." John shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, not entirely comfortable with being talked about as if he weren't there. He decided to leave the two of them alone to 'catch up' or whatever, and gave Sherlock's hand a slight squeeze before letting go and heading in the direction of the bar.

He stood for a moment, leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand, watching Sherlock and Victor conversing. As he watched his fiancé talk animatedly with this stranger, John couldn't keep the uneasiness from welling up inside him. He knew he had nothing to fear; Victor was obviously just a friend, but there had been something in the way Victor looked at Sherlock that set John a bit on edge. He took a sip of his drink and tried to keep his mind off of it.

"John!" He looked to his left, and caught sight of the man approaching, and smiled.

"Arthur? Hello!" He held out his hand for Arthur to take, and settled beside John on a plush bar stool. His eyes wandered back over to Sherlock, whose gaze was transfixed on them, and smiled. Sherlock attempted to smile back, but John knew it wasn't genuine. He made a mental note to ask Sherlock about it later. For now, John turned his attention back to his old army buddy and somewhat good friend. They chatted for several minutes until their conversation was drowned out by what sounded like someone tuning a piano.

John looked to where the instrument was and saw a crowd forming around it. The piano tuning stopped, and after brief moment started again, this time accompanied with the sound of a violin. John and Arthur made their way over and saw Victor at the piano, coaxing a charming melody from the instrument while Sherlock stood beside the bench, playing a violin that he seemed to have picked up from some unknown location. His eyes were closed and he swayed slightly as he played, as he always did, and as always John was enamoured with watching him.

He had to admit, the duet was a lovely song. Victor's playing complimented the tune Sherlock was playing perfectly, as if they were meant to always be played together like this. As beautiful as the performance was, John couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in his chest watching his fiancé create something so beautiful with another man.

Sherlock's eyes opened and he stared directly at John, the corner of his lip quirking up when they made eye contact. Several guests seemed to notice, and some murmured among themselves, but most were entranced by the musical spell being cast upon them by Sherlock and Victor.

When the song stopped everyone applauded, and Sherlock gingerly placed the violin on top of the piano. He casually strolled over to John and threw an arm around his shoulders, and the crowd shifted around them to give them room.

"That was lovely," John commented. smiling up at Sherlock with adoration in his eyes.

"Thanks," came Victor's voice from behind him. John turned and looked over his shoulder at him as he came to stand beside Sherlock, who was staring down at John. He moved his arm from around John's shoulders to around John's waist and pulled him close, resting his head lightly atop his. Victor began making his way through the crowd, and John followed him with his eyes.

"Consider that my engagement present to you," Sherlock said, bringing John's attention back to himself. He leaned in an placed a kiss on John's cheek, much to the delight of their guests. John smiled at him, then turned to address the crowd.

"Well, on that note I think we can call it a night. Thank you everyone for coming, and we hope to see you all at the actual wedding in three months time."

The crowd applauded for some reason unbeknownst to John, then dispersed. He and Sherlock hung back a bit to see everyone off, and John pretended not to notice Sherlock's tight lipped smile when Ollie gave him a hug.

When everyone had left, John took Sherlock's hand in his and they began to leave the ballroom. Victor greeted them when they came out into the main entrance to the hotel.

"John, Sherlock! Hello again!" He approached the two of them, smiling a wide grin and holding his hands out. If he was expecting a hug, he didn't get one; Sherlock had actually tightened his hold on John's hand the closer Victor got to them, and only offered a smile in return of Victor's zealous greeting.

"Hello again Victor." John marveled at how his voice sounded. Sherlock's voice was taut and subdued, and his eyes flashed with annoyance. Victor ignored Sherlock's obvious discomfort and continued to smile at him.

"I just wanted to apologize again for turning up out of the blue, uninvited, but the last time I saw Mycroft he mentioned your engagement-"

"So you've been in close contact with Mycroft?" Victor's face froze and his smile dropped only slightly, but it soon was back in place and he chuckled, placing a heavy hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Not really, no. I just happened to run into him outside the Diogenes Club."

"You're a member?" John asked. Victor nodded his head, finally looking at him for the first time since he'd walked over.

"Why yes." Sherlock groaned, and John covered his smile with his fist. Victor eyed the two of them warily for a moment before removing his hand from Sherlock's shoulder. John tried and failed not to dwell on how Victor's fingertips trailed down Sherlock's arm when he pulled his hand back. The uncomfortable look on Sherlock's face was enough consolation for him to keep a straight face as he stared up at Victor.

"Right, well, there's no need for you to apologize, Vic," Sherlock said through clenched teeth. "Feel free to come to the wedding, if you'd like. I'm sure Mycroft can give you all the details." Sherlock gave a curt nod, then walked away, pulling John along with him. John fought the urge to overthink how Sherlock had put a slight emphasis on the word wedding, wondering if that had meant anything.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, instead holding up his free hand to signal a cab. Only after they'd climbed into the vehicle did he respond to John's question.

"I'm fine." John eyed him cautiously, and was about to inquire further, but then Sherlock leaned over and rested his head on John's shoulder and sighed, and John decided to drop it..

Later that night, however, as John and Sherlock lay in bed together, bodies entertwined and buried beneath the duvet, John couldn't keep the nagging uncertainty from crowding his mind with jealous thoughts. He had to know who this Victor character was, simply for his sanity's sake.

"Sherlock-"

"Who was that man you were talking to?" John ignored the fact that Sherlock had so rudely interrupted him and perused through his memories of that night for a face that might have been unfamiliar to Sherlock, and could only come up with one: his old army buddy Arthur Townsend.

"At the bar? His name's Arthur. We were in Afghanistan together." Sherlock remained silent, and for a moment all that could be heard was the occasional car passing by the flat on the road below the window. "Why?"

"...No reason."

"Alright." Silence surrounded them in the darkened room, and John decided to try again and ease his dubiety. "So, who's Victor Trevor then? Seemed to be a friend of Mycroft's..." As soon as the words left John's lips Sherlock sighed.

"Mycroft? Friend? Honestly John. He's actually an old university friend of mine."

"Oh?" John asked, sounding more surprised than he would've liked. John could practically hear the frown in Sherlock's voice as he spoke.

"Yes, John, I said friend. What, did you somehow believe I was unable to make a single friend in the time before I met you?"

"No, of course not. I just... you've never mentioned him so I figured..."

"We lost contact many years ago. Tonight was the first time I've seen him in over ten years."

"Oh." So that would explain his reaction earlier. "Well, he seemed pretty chuffed to see you, didn't he?"

"I suppose so. Though I can't imagine why." John decided not to pry, and moved closer to Sherlock, resting his forehead against his collarbone and closing his eyes.

"I'm sure you can deduce why. Goodnight Sherlock." Sherlock sucked in a breath, as if to speak, but after several seconds slowly exhaled, and placed a kiss on the top of John's head. Moments later John felt Sherlock wrapping his arms tighter around him and place a gentle kiss at the base of his neck.

"Goodnight."


	3. Stag Night Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John gets taken out for one last night of heterosexuality and Sherlock gets taken to a gay bar for Lestrade to get more blackmail footage.

"So I'm thinking we could just go with the... Sherlock are you even listening?" Sherlock picked his head up from off the table and stared at John with his eyes narrowed.

"Of course I've been listening."

"Alright then, what did I just say about the-"

"Irrelevant."

"Irrelev- Sherlock! This is our wedding we're talking about. Well, I'm talking about." Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes I know. I just don't see why we have to spend so much time on this tedious planning. I mean seriously, all this work for one day? It doesn't make sense."

"Well we wouldn't have to be doing all of this if you hadn't dismissed every wedding planner we went to. I mean, that one lady was willing to do everything for free if she could just come to the wedding."

"She was also willing to jump your bones at a moment's notice."

"Sherlock-"

"I mean she might as well have worn a sign on her forehead reading 'I think John Watson is incredibly attractive and I don't care that his fiancé is sitting right beside him. I'm going to chat him up anyway and hope that he flirts back. Thank you for not flirting back by the way." John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sherlock we've got to get your jealously issues under control." He man sitting across from him huffed indignantly and crossed his arms.

"I do not have jealousy issues." John sighed again, then stood up and walked around to stand behind Sherlock. He placed his hands on his shoulders and leaned down to bury his chin in Sherlock's curls.

"How about you and I take a break? The package we got at the hotel took care of all the big stuff, and we've almost got everything else covered. I'll just make the necessary calls tomorrow and then we'll be done."

"That sounds lovely." John took a step back and allowed Sherlock to stand up. "Is that really all we have left to do?"

"Yeah. Since we ended up going with this package there's not a lot for us to plan. We already know who we each want for our best man, figured out the seating chart for dinner, got several photographers and we've finished with all the fittings for our tuxedos, and everything else is being taken care of by the people over at the Ritz." John chuckled quietly and shook his head. "I still can't believe were getting married there... But anyway, I suppose all we have to do is write our vows..." Sherlock made a face, causing John to stop talking and look up at him with worried eyes. "What?"

"I've never liked the idea of pre-written vows. They're not as bad as the standard ones that everyone does, but they still lack authenticity." John stared blankly at him for a moment, struggling to comprehend.

"So what, do you not want any vows?" Sherlock's face scrunched up as he shook his head, and John fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. As much as he hated talking about his feelings, he' been looking forward to standing with Sherlock before all their family and friends, their hands joining them together as they looked into each other's eyes and declared their love. Well, John was looking forward to hearing what Sherlock would say, actually. He smiled up at his fiancé, who placed a warm hand on his shoulder and smiled back.

"I think we should just, say whatever comes to mind while we're up there. That way it's completely genuine and heartfelt." As unconventional as his request was, this was the first time Sherlock had shown any sort of interest in the actual planning of their wedding so John welcomed it with open arms and a smile on his face.

"If that's what you want to do, then we'll do it." Sherlock smiled back, a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle and brightened his entire face, then leaned in and gave John a quick kiss. Even though the kiss was short, John could feel all the excitement behind it. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and could feel practically him vibrating with anticipation. He smiled and reached up, burying his hand in Sherlock's hair and pulling him down for another, longer, more passionate kiss, to which Sherlock responded quite enthusiastically. When they parted both men were breathless, and John kept his eyes closed for a moment after they separated, wondering how it was possible for his life to get any better, other than actually being married to Sherlock. He opened his eyes the same time Sherlock was opening his, and they both smiled at each other.

"Come on. You haven't had a proper meal in days. We're going to Angelo's." Sherlock sighed, but went to retrieve his coat and scarf.

Their dinner was lovely, as was the walk through a nearby park. John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street hours later, intoxicated with each other and more ready than they ever had been to be married.

John called the hotel about dinner the next day, and when that was finished all he and Sherlock could do was wait with bated breath for the day of their wedding. Days seemed to drag on endlessly and many times the idea of eloping seemed preferable in John's mind, but then all he had to do was mention the upcoming ceremony to Sherlock and see the spark of joy in his eyes and he knew it was worth it. No matter how much Sherlock had complained about the planning and tried to keep it hidden, John knew he was looking forward to the wedding more than he was.

Luckily, Lestrade was able to catch on to their increasing restlessness due to the anticipation of their upcoming wedding and continued to throw cases their way in hopes of distracting them. Sherlock, fully aware of what Lestrade was trying to do, jumped at each and every case, and the days began to fly by and then the next thing John knew it was the night before their wedding, and John found himself at a strip club with a handful of friends. Well, at least he'd arrived with a handful of friends. He wasn't exactly where they were at the moment as he leaned against the bar, nursing some drink whose name he couldn't remember.

The thumping base of the music reverberated inside John's chest, making it hard to tell if what he felt was his own accelerated heart rate or the baseline. All around him scantily clad women were dancing provocatively, but John barley paid them any attention. He was too preoccupied with wondering what Sherlock was up to. Though he had laughed and immediately turned down Sherlock's idea of a joint stag night, he found himself wishing he'd agreed, and that Sherlock was standing beside him instead of at some gay bar on the other side of town with his own circle of friends, or 'acquaintances', as Sherlock had referred to them.

A slightly inebriated Ollie came up to him with a drink in his hand and a smile on his face, tearing John away from his thoughts with a loud whoop.

"Man, this place is awesome!" John smiled and nodded his head, though he found that he couldn't really agree with him. He raised his glass to his lips and took a slow sip, eyes darting around he room but not really looking at anything. He watched Ollie stumble after a girl who was obviously not a natural blonde and sighed, wondering how he managed to lose track of all his friends and end up alone on his stag night. He supposed he wasn't so upset, anyway, as long as his friends were having fun.

Just as John was about to order another drink, Lestrade showed up beside him and nudged him with his elbow.

"You know the whole point of a stag night is to go out and do something wild as a last hurrah before succumbing to the old ball and chain, not hang out alone at the bar and only order one drink. It seems your companions are having more fun than you are, John." He chuckled quietly, his eyes signifying that his mind was somewhere far away. "I remember the night before my wedding I ... " he trailed off, his smile faltering slightly before returning in full force as he changed the subject. "I know you miss him, but it's only one night. Tomorrow's the big day and then you've got two weeks of honeymoon together before coming back and spending the rest of your life with him. Where are you two going anyway?"

"Oh, everywhere," John said before taking a sip of his drink. "We'll be flying out to New York the morning after the wedding to see Phantom of the opera, and from then on we'll be traveling all over the world basically." Lestrade made a strange sort of noise in the back of his throat, and John stopped talking, taking a sip of his drink to give himself something to do.

"Broadway, huh,"Lestrade said crossing his arms and leaning against the bar. "Never pegged you as the broadway type."

"Well I'm not, but Sherlock is and it's as much his honeymoon as mine."

"Fair point."

"After that we're going to Los Angeles, Sydney, and Paris before coming back to London to spend the last night of our honeymoon at the Four Seasons." Lestrade let out a low whistle and placed his drink on the bar.

"Sounds like quite the honeymoon." John simply nodded his head, and after a brief moment his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Erm, not that I don't want you here but, don't you think you should be with Sherlock? It doesn't seem fitting for a guy to be at his stag night without his best man there."

"I was just about to head over, actually. I was waiting for him to have hopefully downed a few drinks first. I need some new footage for my personal blackmail collection." John laughed and was about to say goodbye, when a crazy idea popped into his head. He took a long sip of his drink and forced himself to meet Lestrade's eyes as he spoke.

"Hey do you... Do you think you could maybe, when you get there..."

"Would you like me to send you some updates?"

"Is that too...?" John bit his lip and looked down. He was just about to retract his request when a wide smile broke out on Lestrade's face.

"Not at all. I'll be sure to take plenty of pictures." He have John a friendly pat on the shoulder before paying his tab and turning to leave. "See you tomorrow!"

John watched him leave, then downed his drink and pushed himself off of the wall. He left his empty glass on the bar and went in search of either Ollie, Mike, or Bill. He found Bill reclining in an overstuffed love seat in a darkened corner, drink in hand, simply surveying the room. John made a beeline for him and when he sat down beside the man he felt himself instantly relax. There was just something about Bill's presence that calmed every one of John's nerves and made him feel comforted. He supposed it was just an aftereffect of having his life saved by the man in Afghanistan.

Bill smiled up at him when he approached, his posture relaxing a bit when John settled beside him. He smelled like alcohol and expensive cologne, and thankfully nothing like the women who worked here. The smell of so many different perfumes mixed was starting to give John a headache.

"There you are!" Bill said, raising his hands in greeting. "I was about to go looking for you."

"Yeah," John said, eyeing his friend's casual position. "I'm sure you were." Bill laughed lightheartedly and took a sip of his drink. His eyes swept the room for several moments before they landed on someone, and a wide smile broke out on his face.

"Ah, there we are."

John turned his head and saw a woman with bleached blonde hair and very red lipstick sauntering towards him. Her 'outfit' consisted of a leather bra and pair of shorts. John could smell her perfume several seconds before she came to stand before him, smiling some sort of cheshire cat smile at him. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his face even.

"Well hello there, mister," she said in an overly sultry voice that obviously wasn't her normal speaking tone. "What's your name?"

"Uh, John."

"My name's Candice. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Erm, you too." He tried to offer Candice a sincere smile, and shot Bill a dirty look. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ollie and Mike approaching, both with stupid smiles on their faces. He looked back up at Candice just in time to see her take another step closer and start to lower herself into his lap. "Oh, no, thank you. I'm- I'm... I probably shouldn't. I'm getting married tomorrow." Candice remained in John's lap and reached for his left hand, holding it with both of hers.

"I don't see a ring..." John sighed and nodded his head. He and Sherlock had both sent their rings to be engraved before the wedding, and wouldn't be getting them back until the next day, when they put them on each other's fingers. Still, John shook his head and tried to pull his hand away.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh come on John," Bill said, "this is supposed to be your one last night as a straight man before you settle down with that bloke." Candice sat up a bit straighter, eyeing John strangely.

"You mean you're gay?"

"I'm not gay."

"But you're marrying a guy."

"I am." Rather than be repulsed or confused by this information, Candice seemed intrigued and almost enticed by it. Her smile grew and she shifted in John's lap, draping one glitter-covered arm over his shoulders and bringing her face mere centimetres away from his.

"Oh come on John," she drawled, reaching up to run a fingertip along his jawline, "Live a little. God knows you'll probably never have a woman in this position again."

Just as John was opening his mouth to say something, he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He somehow managed to reach into his pocket without disturbing Candice and pulled out his mobile. He looked at the screen and saw that Greg Lestrade had sent him a picture message. With a smile of eager anticipation he opened the message, and started laughing when the picture finally loaded.

It was a blurry picture, and the dim light of the bar made it difficult to see anything, but John could see Sherlock in the center of the screen, a look of disgust on his face with several men pressed against his front and back. The caption for the photo was 'This was the first thing I saw when I got here'.

John was about to put his phone away when it buzzed again with another message. John opened that one faster than the first, and felt his jaw drop when it loaded.

Sherlock was casually leaning against a bar with a drink in his hand and a neutral expression on his face, as if he hadn't had several men grinding on him several moments ago. Even in the dim lighting he looked gorgeous, perhaps even more so with the way the shadows were dancing on his angular face.

"Is that your fiance?" Candice asked, leaning over to see the phone screen. "Boy, you're a lucky fella." John just smiled and tucked his phone away after saving the pictures.

It would be another ten minutes or so before the next picture was received, and fortunately by then Candice was long gone. John was still a bit flustered from her "performance" when he pulled his phone from his pocket, and kept his head down so the guys sitting with him at the table wouldn't see.

The picture was of Sherlock, back on the dance floor, still with a drink in his hand. Though, this time he actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and was possibly even dancing from the looks of it. John noticed another familiar face in the picture, and after a brief moment he realized it was the Victor fellow from the engagement party. He was standing in front of Sherlock, facing him, smiling with his hands in the air. He was obviously drunk, but John couldn't be sure if Sherlock was. Though his face did seem a bit pinker than it had been in the picture before it.

About five minutes later John received two more photos. The first was of Sherlock and Victor, back at the bar, mid-conversation. Victor was holding a glass of something, but thankfully Sherlock's hands were empty. John was glad he was being somewhat responsible and not getting completely wasted. He knew neither of them would be happy if Sherlock had a hangover at their wedding.

John opened the next picture and nearly chocked on the saliva he sucked in when he gasped. Sherlock was sitting in a chair with his legs spread open, and some bloke in a bright orange top was sitting in his lap. He was bent over, seemingly whispering something in Sherlock's ear, and John felt his blood begin to boil. That was, until he saw that Sherlock was being held in place by a pair of hands on his shoulders and his facial expression looked completely horrified. Then, John laughed, and though he knew he would probably receive no response he typed out a text to Sherlock anyway.

Having fun? Not even a minute later John's phone was buzzing.

Can you talk? SH

John excused himself from the table on the pretense that he was headed to the restroom, though he was sure everyone knew why he was leaving. Still, he did go inside the bathroom before he answered Sherlock's text.

I can now.

Twenty seconds hadn't passed before John's phone began ringing. John took a quick look around to make sure he was alone before he answered.

"Hi."

"John, this is absolutely horrendous." John could hear a slight echo in the background, meaning Sherlock had absconded himself to the restroom as well.

"So i take it you're not enjoying yourself?" He could hear Sherlock sigh, but in a way that implied amusement rather than irritation.

"If I find out whose idea it was to bring me here I swear I'll-"

"It was my idea."

"...really?"

"Maybe." It wasn't, but John was curious to see what Sherlock's reaction would be. "It doesn't matter whose idea it was. You're supposed to be having fun."

"Are you having fun?"

"Oh, tons. You're lucky I decided to tear myself away from the busty blonde who'd been sitting in my lap. I may still be covered in glitter tomorrow.."

"Johnn..."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." John laughed, then sighed. "I really miss you actually. A joint stag night's not looking so bad now." Sherlock remained silent for almost a full minute, and John began wondering if the call had been disconnected, or if Sherlock had hung up, and was about to end the call when Sherlock spoke up.

"I love you." John tried not to laugh, but his voice shook slightly when he spoke.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"The amount of alcohol I've consumed has nothing to do with my love for you. Why is it that I can't just say 'I love you' to the man I'm going to marry tomorrow? Am I really that cold?"

"You're hammered, aren't you?"

"I'll admit I'm certainly not sober." John laughed, and he could hear Sherlock laughing as well. "I still love you though, no matter my blood alcohol content."

"And I love you." He could hear Sherlock sigh heavily on the other end of the line.

"I suppose I'll let you get back to your lap dance or whatever it is you're getting up to over there."

"I guess I could say the same to you." There was a sharp intake of breath on the other line, and John was sure he burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh.

"How did you-"

"See you tomorrow!" John cut in, still fighting a laugh. Several seconds of silence passed before he heard anything on the other end of the line, and even then it was only a sigh. Still, it sounded more like a teenager thinking about their crush than a man annoyed with his fiancé, and John found himself smiling as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"Yes," Sherlock finally said. "Tomorrow."


	4. The Big Day pt. 1

John woke up with a smile on his face, but it disappeared when he realized he was alone in an unfamiliar bed. The smile reappeared, however, when he remembered why he was in this particular situation.

As per wedding tradition, he and Sherlock were not to see each other before the wedding, and because neither man wanted to let the other sleep in Baker Street without him, Sherlock and John had spent the night at the house of their best man. Sherlock had left with Lestrade after his stag night, much like John had gone home with Bill.

John stumbled out of the guest bedroom and down the hall, in search of the bathroom. He somehow ended up in the kitchen and blinked at the bright lights, still not fully awake. Mrs. Murray was making breakfast it seemed, and saw him when he came in.

"Hello John!" She said, her voice sounding extra cheery. "How are we this morning?" John couldn't have kept the smile off of his face if he'd tried.

"Great. Fantastic. Absolutely marvelous!" Mrs. Murray chuckled lightly and turned back around to tend to the sizzling eggs on the stove. Bill appeared from around the corner with a frown on his face. He had obviously just woken up as well, and was in much worse shape than John.

"Calm down with all that yelling," he said. "Some of us normal people aren't fully awake yet."

"Oh come on Bill, don't be like that," John said playfully nudging him with his elbow. "It's my wedding day! I'm allowed to be a bit chipper this morning." Though Bill's eyes were still tired and he only looked barely conscious, he smiled at John and nodded his head.

"Yeah, I suppose you are. Now come on, we'll eat breakfast and then we'll go and get you ready."

John found it hard to eat though, due to his anxious stomach. He was only able to get a piece of toast and some coffee down before he dashed off into his room to retrieve his things. He only had a suitcase to take with him; His tuxedo and everything else were already at the Ritz and he was to change there. He carried the suitcase into the bathroom with him and brushed his teeth in a hurry, and was back out in the living room a mere five minutes after he'd taken his last bite of breakfast. Bill hadn't even left the table yet, and Mrs. Murray was still washing the dishes. Bill appeared in the living room a few minutes later, and then the two of them were ushered into an awaiting car that was to take them to Picadilly.

Fortunately it was still rather early, and not many people were out and about. John would have hated to be seen in his pyjamas in public. His hair wasn't combed and he knew he looked rather unkempt, but that didn't matter because in a matter of hours he would be primped and polished and ready and waiting for Sherlock to walk down the aisle.

They'd discussed several ways of having a processional, but eventually had agreed that John would already be waiting at the front of the room when Sherlock entered. Sherlock had the more refined gait of the two of them, and so they decided that if anyone was going to take that long and momentous walk, it would be him.

After about thirty minutes John was starting to become restless thinking about Sherlock and the wedding. He had been hoping to at least get a peek at Sherlock beforehand but he'd been immediately whisked away to his dressing room and hadn't been able to leave since. He assumed Sherlock was in the same predicament as well.

However, he managed to escape from the confines of his dressing room while Bill and Ollie were busy trying to tie each other's bow ties. Once he was in the corridor John began wandering, not really sure where he was going or how he would get there. He caught sight of an unopened bottle of water sitting on an abandoned maid's cart, and took a quick look around before swiping it. He figured it would at least provide some sort of alibi as to why he'd left his dressing room, however flimsy an excuse it was. John unscrewed the cap and was raising the bottle to his lips when he heard a very familiar and startlingly loud voice shouting from not very far away.

"I need to see him!"

John almost dropped the bottle he was holding in a momentary stupour at hearing Sherlock's voice. He put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the cart before venturing down the hall. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock standing at the end of the corridor, conversing with his parents and Lestrade. He was wearing his tuxedo trousers and a white robe was covering his bare torso, and his hair somehow looked even more perfect than usual. John wondered how much product had been put into it to get it like that. He laughed when he noticed one stray curl in the center of Sherlock's forehead; No matter how hard he tried, that errant curl would always find a way to defy proper hair etiquette.

Lestrade was the first to see John, and when their eyes met he smiled and looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock seemed oblivious to what had happened and continued to shout about whatever it was that was displeasing him, his robe flapping about as he waved his hands in the air. Lestrade held a hand out and tried to calm him down.

"Sherlock-" He was cut off by a fierce growl from Sherlock.

"I don't care about tradition. I need to see him!" John was about to step forward and intervene, but then Sherlock's mother glanced over Sherlock's shoulder and saw him. Her eyes lit up and she called out to him, smiling.

"Oh, John! Hi!"

Sherlock immediately spun around, and when he saw John he froze. John held his gaze with a smile on his face, and the silence stretched on. Eventually Sherlock began making his way towards John, and John started casually strolling towards Sherlock. A wide smile broke out on Sherlock's face as their walking paces increased and they were almost running by the time they collided, Sherlock wrapping his arms tightly around John. John held Sherlock equally as tight, and he lost track of how long they stood there embracing.

"I love you," he said, his voice muffled by Sherlock's shoulder.

"And I love you." Sherlock was holding John so tight he almost couldn't breathe, but he didn't mind. He began tracing along Sherlock's spine with his fingertip, and when Sherlock pulled away he leaned in and kissed John's forehead.

"You don't know how glad I am to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too." Sherlock took a step back and held John at arm's length.

"No, you don't understand. There's something I need to talk to you about." John kept a smile on his face, hoping to keep any traces of worry or uncertainty from his face.

"What is it?"

"I don't want to be Mister Holmes-Watson." Instantly John's face fell and he started to back away from Sherlock, a prominent frown on his face.

"What? Bad time to bring this up, don't you think?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed John's hands, pulling him closer.

"No, no, don't be absurd John. Of course I still want to marry you." John breathed a sigh of relief and willed his heart rate to slow down.

"Alright," he said, "So what's this about not being a Holmes-Watson then?"

"I want to be Sherlock Watson-Holmes."

"What?"

"I've changed my mind." John raised an eyebrow, not quite frowning at Sherlock, but not exactly smiling either.

"And I'm just supposed to go along with it?" Sherlock's eyes widened and his grip on John's hands tightened.

"No, no, not like that. I just ... it's just ... you always sacrifice so much for me. I want you to be put first for once." John couldn't help but smile then, as he thought that by going along with this notion he was actually putting Sherlock first. Sherlock brought John's hands up to his lips and kissed each and every knuckle before releasing them. John just smiled up at him before realizing that they still had to finish getting ready for their wedding, and he smiled even wider.

"Alright then," he said, "You go tell the officiant, then finish getting ready. I'll meet you at the altar," John added with a wink.

Sherlock's eyes crinkled and his smile now almost encompassed his entire face. He nodded his head, gave John a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, then turned and went in search of the officiant. John sucked in a breath, then turned and went back to his dressing room. Thirty minutes later he was in place behind Bill, who was standing behind Ollie. When he heard the music start up, and John's heart rate increased tenfold.

This is it, he thought to himself. It's actually happening. Stay calm John. 

Ollie was the first to walk out, then Bill. John held his breath while he waited for the signal to go, and then he stepped out in front of all his and Sherlock's family and friends, minus those who were to come in with Sherlock, and smiled. He saw Molly sitting several rows back, already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and he saw Mrs. Hudson siting in the second row with a huge smile on her face. Victor had managed to grab a seat in the back row beside Anthea, who was busy typing away on her phone. He saw his parents seated in the front row beside Sherlock's mother and father, and his jaw dropped when he saw Harry sitting in between his father and Mycroft. She smiled shyly and waved, and John managed to smile back.

The music slowly died down, and just as the song was ending another one started up. John could feel the anticipation in the air as the doors opened and Mike Stamford walked up the aisle. He was followed by Greg Lestrade, and then everyone rose to their feet. John held his breath, and when he saw Sherlock walk through the doors he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

He looked absolutely stunning in the tuxedo that was so perfectly tailored to fit him, and John began to feel incredibly inferior in comparison. Sherlock's eyes locked with John's and they both smiled, and John felt as if he were literally floating. He felt as if his feet no longer had contact with the ground and it was only Sherlock and himself floating on cloud nine.

Sherlock sauntered up the aisle, his eyes lever leaving John's and the smile never leaving his face. When he finally reached John he cupped his face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on his eager lips. John couldn't help but laugh when he pulled away.

"We're not married yet, you know." Sherlock shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers.

"I couldn't help myself. You just look so gorgeous." John glanced away, almost certain that we was blushing. A collective 'aww' rose from the audience before they all took their seats, and the officiant began speaking.

"We have gathered here to day to celebrate the joining together of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Though these two men came in here as two individuals, they will leave as one union, united in marriage." The officiant focused his attention on Sherlock and John, who reached out at the same time to join their hands together. "Sherlock, John, you understand that this decision you have made and this commitment is much more than having a ceremony and signing a document. You two have decided to commit your lives to each other, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, 'till death do you part. A vast, unknown future stretches out before you. That future, with its hopes and disappointments, its joys and sorrows, is hidden from your eyes. But it is a great tribute to your belief in each other that you are willing to face those uncertainties together. May the pure, passionate love with which you join your hearts and hands today never fail, but grow only deeper and surer with every moment you spend together."

John gave Sherlock's hands a quick squeeze, and they smiled at each other. The officiant smiled as well, before glancing down at the paper in his hand. "The couple has decided to recite their own vows, and will do so at this time." He nodded towards Sherlock. "You may go first."

Sherlock let out a slow breath and began speaking in a bored sounding, nearly monotonous voice.

"John, there's nothing I can say now that I haven't said already, but I'll try to string some words together in a different order in hopes that they will sound slightly more meaningful, given the occasion." He paused and waited for the laughter to die down, then sucked in a breath and stared down at their joined hands. "Out of all the people you could have chosen to share your life with, that you could have chosen to love, you chose me, and I cannot express in any amount of words in any language how grateful I am for that and how lucky I consider myself to be." By now the detachment had begun to fade from Sherlock's voice and John could hear the love he usually managed to keep hidden. Sherlock looked up and met John's eyes, and he could see the love as well. "You look past all my faults, and I'll be honest in saying there are quite a few, and you love me regardless. I would say I do the same for you but you have no faults for me to look past. I could not have personally created a more perfect human being than you John. I know I always said heroes don't exist ... but I was wrong. John, you are my hero. You saved me from myself, and you've saved me from a lifetime of lovelessness and solitude. I thought sentiment was simply a chemical defect found only on the losing side, but I can tell you right now that standing here, with you, knowing that I've won your love, I feel as if I've won the greatest prize in the world. Never before have I been so wrong, and never before have I been so glad to have been proven wrong. I know I don't say it often but I do love you John, and I vow to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, each and every day for the rest of eternity." John pulled a hand out of Sherlock's grasp to swipe a finger at the corner of his eye, and when his hands were once again joined with Sherlock's he have them a squeeze.

"I should have gone first." Laughter could be heard from the audience, but it soon quieted down and John was allowed to begin.

"Um, Sherlock, the day I met you is truly a day I'll never forget. On that day, my life was changed forever and I am happy to say the change has been for the better. Before you... Before I met you I wasn't really living. My life had no livelihood, but then you showed up and showed me a whole new world. A different battlefield. One I love being on because now I've got you by my side. The time I've spent with you has been the best time of my life, and I honestly don't know where I'd be without you. I hope I never have to find out. I cannot thank you enough for everything you've done for me, and I only hope I can bring you as much happiness to you as you've brought into my life. And you... You said that I've chosen to love you. I'm afraid to tell you that's not true. You see, I had no choice in the matter. Loving you isn't something I chose to do, loving you hasn't always been the easiest thing to do, but my god, I couldn't stop if I tried. You are truly my better half. In fact, you are all of me. Everything I've got is yours whether you like it or not. Wherther I like it or not. Sherlock, you are the most amazing man I have ever met, and from this day on I am so incredibly happy, and so very proud to be able to call you my husband. I love you."

Sherlock had managed to keep a semi-neutral expression on his face for the duration of John's vows, but John could tell how much he was affected by how tightly he was holding John's hands. John had nearly lost all circulation in them, but he paid no mind to it. Each moment that passed brought them one moment closer to being married, and John couldn't wait any longer. Luckily, he didn't have to because the officiant soon started speaking.

"John, do you choose Sherlock to be your partner in life, promising to share in all that life offers, to be there for him in times of need, to soothe him in times of pain, and to support him in all endeavors, both big and small? "

"I do."

"Sherlock, do you choose John to be your partner in life, promising to share in all that life offers, to be there for him in times of need, to soothe him in times of pain, and to support him in all endeavors, both big and small?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let us have the rings please." John turned and took the ring from Bill's outstretched hand, took a moment to find the engraved 'S&J' on the band, and then slid it onto Sherlock's finger. Sherlock took John's ring from Greg and slid it on, and then moved his hands to rest on John's waist. John placed his hands against Sherlock's chest and they stared into each other's eyes while they waited for the only words they cared to hear that day.

"I now pronounce you husband and ... husband. You may now salute your groom."

"He doesn't mean that literally, John," Bill called out from behind him. Sherlock glared over John's shoulder at him, and John laughed as he moved his hands up to Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him down into a soft kiss. Their guests cheered, but the applause barely registered in John's mind as his lips slid against Sherlock's.

They pulled away slowly, and when John opened his eyes he saw that Sherlock's were bright and shining. He reached down and laced his fingers through Sherlock's, and hey turned and faced their guests, both men smiling broadly.

"I now present to you, Doctor and Mister Watson-Holmes!"

___________________________________________________________

I am taking a bit of creative liberty here. To my knowledge there is no side door through which John could have entered in any of the rooms the Ritz uses for weddings, but in this story there is. 

As always, all mistakes are mine and I apologize for them. Thanks for reading!


	5. The Big Day pt. 2

About forty minutes and many, many camera flashes later, John and Sherlock finally got some time to themselves before they were to arrive at the reception. The minute the photographer had begun packing up his equipment to carry to the ballroom, Sherlock had grabbed John's hand and practically dragged him to a secluded corridor. John didn't even get a chance to ask what Sherlock was doing before he was shoved against the nearest wall and Sherlock's lips attached themselves to the skin of John's neck, sucking at the junction where neck met shoulder.

"Sherlock," John gasped, a hand reaching up to bury itself in Sherlock's curls, "What, what are-" He was silenced as Sherlock lifted his head to place a hard kiss on John's mouth.

"You know, as gorgeous as you look in that tux," Sherlock mumbled against John's lips. "I simply cannot wait to get it off of you." Sherlock resumed kissing John then, and John kissed back as enthusiastically as he was being kissed, and mere moments later he became aware of an increase in pressure against his hip. He shifted slightly, heard the faint moan Sherlock gave, and pulled away.

"Sherlock, stop." The second John had pulled away, Sherlock reattached his lips to his neck, sucking even harder this time with the very obvious intent of leaving a mark. John could only imagine what their guests would say if they saw John sporting a hickey at the reception. John grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and pulled him away, earning himself a glare from his husband. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I thought it was fairly obvious." As if to make his point clearer, Sherlock moved his hands to John's hips and pulled him impossibly closer, making it impossible for John to mistake the bulge in Sherlock's trousers as anything other than what it was.

"Sherlock, though I do appreciate the enthusiasm, we are in public."

"There's a supply closet several meters down this corridor." John felt his face flush at the sound of Sherlock's voice so deep in his ear, but managed to keep a clear head and placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, pushing only enough to be able to look into Sherlock's eyes.

"Sherlock, I don't want the consummation of our marriage to be a 'quickie' in a supply closet. And, we've got a reception to get to alright?" John rested his head against the wall behind him and stared at Sherlock, who was pointedly avoiding eye contact. John found his sudden shyness quite amusing, considering the position they were currently in. John then began wishing that his tuxedo trousers hadn't been so perfectly tailored to fit him. He could surely use a bit more room beneath the belt at the moment.

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh and stepped back, his eyes downcast.

"Yes, I suppose we should actually get through the rest of our wedding before we partake of more amorous activities..." he tightened his hold on John's waist and gave him a cheeky smile. "There will be plenty of time for it later."

John chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and giving a slight squeeze. He stretched up to plant a kiss at the corner of Sherlock's mouth, and just when Sherlock started to turn his head to bring their lips together John pulled away.

"Tease," Sherlock murmured against John's temple. John's only response was to give a slight tug on his hand and lead him to the ballroom entrance. John stood close enough to Sherlock that he could feel the warmth coming from him, and it still wasn't close enough. John took a step closer to his new husband and trapped their hands between their sides. Sherlock looked down at him, amused, but said nothing because in that moment the doors were opened and they were greeted with the sight of all their wedding guests seated around round tables, clapping for them.

John and Sherlock walked into the room with wide smiles on their faces, both men unable to hide their happiness at being introduced as Doctor and Mister Watson-Holmes. John and Sherlock stood for a moment, waving at their guests, and John was about to start walking to their seats when music started playing; a waltz.

"What's going on?" he asked. Sherlock sighed and turned towards John with an eyebrow raised.

"I believe it is time for our first dance as husbands." John allowed himself to be lead out to the center of the room, and music began playing as Sherlock placed one hand on John's waist, and used the other to grab John's hand. John placed his other hand on Sherlock's shoulder, smiled up at him, and they began moving. John was so busy trying to count his steps that it took him a moment to realize Sherlock was in fact leading. When he noticed this he chuckled and shook his head.

"What?" Sherlock nearly whispered, tightening his hold on John's waist slightly.

"Of course you're leading. Just like everything else, isn't it?" John smiled up at Sherlock, who stared down at him with a confused smile.

"I don't understand." John moved his hand from Sherlock's shoulder to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. "You know, if you wanted to lead I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."

John felt as if all of the air had left his body at once and he was left gasping, grasping at bits of oxygen in the air around him. He stared up into Sherlock's eyes, so full of love and nothing else but love, and found himself nearly brought to tears with how happy he was knowing that look was reserved for only him. With great concentration John managed to lean up and kiss him without a misstep in their dance, and when he did a chorus of 'aww's came from all around them. John jumped back a bit, suddenly remembering he and Sherlock were not alone, and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John tighter than he'd ever thought possible, and bent his elbow, bringing their hands close to their bodies. John laced his fingers through Sherlock's and closed his eyes, allowing himself to become lost in this perfect moment.

"I couldn't have picked a more perfect song for our first dance," John said. "How did you find this?"

"I wrote it." John picked his head up and stared at Sherlock, who simply stared back, a hint of a smile playing at his perfect cupid's bow lips. "This is actually a recording I made last week when you went to Tesco for two hours." 

"Yeah, because your brother kidnapped me-" John lifts his head to raise an eyebrow at Sherlock, who just smiles. "You planned that, didn't you?" Sherlock shrugged. John rolled his eyes, but smiled affectionately up at Sherlock, not bothering to keep the emotion from his face or out of his eyes. It was his wedding day, he was allowed to be a bit emotional. Still, John was proud to say there were no tears in his eyes when he looked up at Sherlock.

"Both piano and violin is you?"

"Yes. It's not that hard to layer audio, you know. And though it's been a while since I've played I don't think my piano skills are too terrible. And even if they are I figured the sentimentality of the gesture would make up for it." John placed his head back on Sherlock's shoulder and sighed.

"Of course," he said mainly to himself. "God, I am so getting the better deal here." Sherlock's hand slipped from John's and soon both arms were wrapped tightly around him. Sherlock buried his face in John's neck as John looped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and he shook his head.

"Never that, John."

The song soon died down and faded away, but John and Sherlock remained in an embrace in the middle of the room long after the music had gone away and the applause died down. It was only when a new song began playing that they separated. John jerked his head in the direction of where their seats were and smiled at Sherlock, who simply nodded and grabbed John's hand. They took their seats at the head table, and the applause quieted down enough for the emcee to announce that the first round of dinner was being served. When the first plates had been delivered and everyone's drink had been poured, Bill Murray, who was seated on John's right, stood from his seat and cleared his throat.

"Well, I guess this is my time to shine," he said, earning a few lighthearted chuckles from the audience. "Right, well, I've known John a long time. We've been through a lot together and, well, I like to say that it brought us very close together. I mean, I'm his best man. That's got to mean something, right?" More laughter. "Anyway, John's a great guy. I knew it from the moment I met him that he had a kind heart. He's a man made to love, and though I don't know Sherlock as well as I know John I know there is not any other person more deserving of him." John reached over and placed a hand over Sherlock's that was resting on top of the table and smiled. Bill reached down and picked up his champagne glass. "To John and Sherlock!" 

Everyone raised their glasses, and took a small sip, and when Bill sat down Lestrade stood up.

"Okay, it's my turn now. I'm not gonna be up here long, I promise. Um, well, I will admit that I was quite surprised when Sherlock asked me to be his best man, but I am more delighted than anything. I've known him for years and because of that I know my position is a special one." Sherlock huffed and looked down, and John began massaging the back of his palm with his thumb. Greg glanced down at Sherlock before continuing his speech.

"Sherlock, you are a great man, you always have been. But John here, he makes you a good one. I could tell from the very beginning that you two were perfect for each other, though I hadn't originally thought it would come to this. Marriage, I mean. Though I see now it makes perfect sense. Never before have I seen two people more... in love than you two. I mean, you'd have to blind not to see it and even then you could hear it or something. It's undeniable. I can only hope to find the same happiness for myself that you two have found in each other. You two are the perfect definition of companionship and commitment, and I wish you many happy years together." He picked up his glass and raised it slightly. "To Sherlock and John!"

Everyone toasted once more, and then dinner began. John, who hadn't eaten anything since his sad excuse for a breakfast that morning, was absolutely starving, and dug into his salad with a vigour that would suggest he hadn't eaten in weeks. Sherlock beside him only took small bites of his meal, mostly watching John and surveying the room. After the main dish had been served and eaten, John placed a hand on Sherlock's thigh to get his attention.

"Come on, let's go cut that cake." Sherlock nodded and followed after him.

Ten minutes later Sherlock was sitting at his seat with a scowl on his face, trying to wipe away the icing still on his face and in his hair. John was sitting beside him, gently caressing his knee, offering a half-hearted apology that he knew he didn't need to give, but gave anyway.

"I'm sorry about your hair." Sherlock simply huffed and turned away from him. "Oh come on Sherlock, at least face me. I don't think it would look very well for us to be seen having a row on our wedding day, at our wedding. Tongues might wag and we don't want that." Sherlock remained silent, but turned back towards John. He even leaned in a bit to make it look like they were having an intimate discussion, and John smiled at him. Though Sherlock's mouth was set in a hard line, John could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't truly angry. Not anymore, at least. John turned and watched their guests dancing the night away, then turned back to Sherlock.

"Come on, let's get back out there. I know you love dancing. Don't let a little bit of cake ruin this for you." Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, think of this. Mycroft is currently out on the dance floor, as unbelievable as it is, and if you get close enough to him he might be able to smell the icing in your hair. Think of how much fun that'll be for him."

After a moment Sherlock turned to look at John again, his lips already quirked into his trademark smirk.

"This is why I love you." Before John could react Sherlock was up and on his feet, making a beeline for his brother. John chuckled and went after him, pausing only to greet any guests he hadn't already spoken to. He caught sight of Sherlock standing directly beside Mycroft, who looked rather uncomfortable. Whether it was because he could actually smell the cake on Sherlock or he was just a bit disconcerted because of his close proximity alone, John couldn't tell. Either way, it was hilarious.

John decided to wander around a bit, and even danced with a few guests. Every now and then he would search for Sherlock in the crowd. After a short while John lost sight of Sherlock, but after several seconds of frantic searching he saw him standing at the edge of the dance floor talking with Victor. Sherlock's eyes were on John and he offered a smile when their eyes locked, and John tried his best to smile back. With great effort he tore his eyes away from Sherlock and Victor, and caught sight of Arthur sitting alone at a table.

"What, no dancing?" He asked when he walked over. Arthur just chuckled, then gestured to the seat beside him. He sat down in a vacant seat and glanced over at where Sherlock was standing. Victor was gone now, and in his place stood Mycroft. Both he and Sherlock were staring at Arthur, identical expressions of discontentment adorning their faces. John turned back to Arthur and frowned.

"Um, is it possible that you erm, knew Sherlock or Mycroft before meeting me?" Arthur's lips stretched into a tight smile and he nodded his head.

"Yeah, I knew Sherlock back in Primary. Before I got sent to military school." He sighed. "I was a bit of a bit of a brat back then. I admit I wasn't ... I was a mean kid."

"Hmm, excuse me for a moment, will you?" Arthur nodded his head, and John stood from his seat, quickly crossing the room to stand before his husband and brother-in-law. John was torn between smiling because Sherlock was, in fact, now his husband, and grimacing because that meant Mycroft was his brother as well.

"Sherlock, I need to speak with you." Sherlock simply nodded his head, and just as he started to move Mr. and Mrs. Holmes approached them.

"Hello!" John accepted a hug from his mother-in-law and gave His father-in-law a handshake, smiling and pretending they hadn't interrupted a somewhat important conversation. For a while John and Mr. Holmes discussed football while Sherlock and his mother fretted over Sherlock's cake stained suit.

"I've just been on the phone with Alice," John heard Mrs. Holmes say. He could see Sherlock bristle slightly, but Mrs. Holmes seemed not to have noticed. "She sends her love."

"No she doesn't," Sherlock clipped, stepping back from his mother and towards John slightly. John put an arm around Sherlock's waist and avoided eye contact with everyone. Mycroft, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere, came up with some excuse to get Mr. and Mrs. Holmes to the other side of the room. John sent him a grateful look before turning back to Sherlock.

"Who's Alice?"

"Not important. What was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Um, Arthur-" Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes, turning away from John. He took a quick look around to check that no one as watching them, then grabbed Sherlock by the arm and dragged him to an empty corner of the room.

"He bullied you, didn't you?" Sherlock's eyes were glued to the floor as he shrugged.

"I suppose you could say that."

"Oh, Sherlock, why didn't you tell me?"

"Not important."

"Not- Sherlock! You are important. The most important person to me. If you had just told me I wouldn't have invited him to the wedding."

"It was ages ago."

"Doesn't mean it can't still hurt."

"Oh John don't be silly. I'm a grown man. I am not haunted by memories of his playground antics okay?" John sighed and his tongue darted out to wet his lip as he looked around the room. He felt a warm hand pressing against the small of his back and relaxed slightly, leaning into Sherlock's touch.

"I wish you would have told me," he murmured, becoming less agitated with each gentle caress of Sherlock's thumb over the expensive fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

"Though I do appreciate the concern I can assure you John there are no hard feelings between Arthur and I." John sighed and nodded his head, then turned so he could look into Sherlock's eyes.

"Still, I don't think I'll be inviting him over to the flat for tea any time soon." The corner of Sherlock's lip quirked upwards and he have John that look he had come to adore so much, and John held his breath in anticipation of the kiss he knew he was going to get. Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, not calculating or observing, but staring at John as if he were the answer to a question he hadn't even realised needed asking. Though his lips remained sealed the look in Sherlock's eyes spoke volumes, and every unspoken word was like music to John's ears.

Neither John nor Sherlock closed their eyes when their lips met. It felt more intimate this way, being able to look directly into Sherlock's eyes and see every thought that couldn't be communicated through a simple kiss, and know that Sherlock could see the same message written clearly in the blue of John's own eyes.

Sherlock's lips, still pressed against John's, curved into a smile, and John found himself smiling as well before he let his eyelids fall shut and reached up to bury a hand in Sherlock's excessively styled and slightly sticky hair. Sherlock hummed in appreciation and wrapped his long arms around John, holding him so closely they may as well have been one entity. John allowed himself to become lost in the kiss and become lost in the feeling of having his husband's arms so tightly wrapped around him. There could have been an alien invasion in progress, but John wouldn't have noticed it then. All that mattered was that moment, the feel of Sherlock's lips against his own, their hearts beating in tandem with each other.


	6. The Honeymoon pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't know how I forgot to post this...

Sherlock and John had originally planned to stay in the ballroom for the entire duration of their reception, though around the time of their third dance they found it impossible to keep their hands or lips off of each other and decided it would be in everyone's best interest if they left early to get a jump start on their honeymoon.

They remained glued at the hip as they stood at the entrance to give a formal goodbye before they left. There were just turning to go when a voice shouted from the back of the room:

"I guess we won't be able to call you The Virgin anymore, Sherlock!"

"You can't call me that now!" he shouted back, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in indignation. He looked incredibly insulted, and John understood why. Still, that didn't keep his ears from burning when the audience's laughter ended with a collective gasp. John shouted one more goodbye before grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragging him out of the room.

"Well, seems like someone's in a hurry," Sherlock drawled, draping himself across John and causing him to stumble on his way to pick up their room key. John ignored his comment and tried to be upset at Sherlock's earlier retort, but found it impossible, and laughed as he unlocked the door.

The room was elegantly furnished, but John didn't get a chance to fully take it in because the moment the door was closed Sherlock had John pressed against it and was kissing him furiously, hands already working at the buttons of his tuxedo jacket. Once the garment was removed from John's shoulders Sherlock's hands went to cup John's face, and the kissed turned soft. Sherlock pulled away slowly, only far enough away to stare into John's eyes.

"We're married." A wide smile spread across his face, and soon there was an answering grin on John's face as well.

"Yes," he said, reaching up to trail a finger along Sherlock's jaw. "We are."

"John Hamish Watson-Holmes. What a marvelous name."

"William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes ... what a mouthful." Sherlock glared at him, but John just laughed and gave him a quick kiss. "You go ahead to the bedroom. I'll pour us some champagne."

"Like we'll actually have time to drink it before-"

"Bedroom." Sherlock's spine straightened and he gave John one hard kiss before retreating through the door. John had only poured one glass when he heard Sherlock call his name.

"John!"

He poured another glass, then carried the two champagne flutes into the bedroom where Sherlock was and saw him standing beside the bed, hands on his hips, brow slightly furrowed as he stared down at it. He handed Sherlock one of the flutes and looked down at the bed, smiling when he saw the rose petal heart that had been created on the duvet. Sherlock held a hand out towards the bed, raising the glass to his mouth to take a quick sip.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?" He asked, his eyes meeting John's. His face was displeased but there was something in his eyes that told a different story. John watched Sherlock as he surveyed the room, noticed how often his eyes drifted towards the bed, and laughed.

"You like it." Sherlock turned his gaze on John, his eyes questioning. "The rose petals, the champagne, the romance." Sherlock huffed and pretended to be annoyed, but John could see the telltale blush creeping across his cheeks. He placed his champagne flute down on the bedside table and turned back to John, grabbing his hip with one large hand and placing a kiss just beneath his ear.

"Well excuse me for feeling romantic on my wedding day." The low rumbling of Sherlock's voice in John's ear sent shivers down his spine, and he placed his glass beside Sherlock's before pulling him closer, kissing him in earnest. He pulled back to run a hand through Sherlock's hair, and smiled at the way Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed.

"Well I'm feeling more than just romantic." Sherlock opened his eyes and smirked, then brought a hand to John's chin and tilted his head up to kiss him. John's tongue swiped across Sherlock's plump bottom lip and his lips parted, granting him access.

Icing and champagne mixed with a taste that was purely Sherlock, and when Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and he could smell his cologne John nearly went into sensory overload. Soon it became apparent that both men were wearing far too many clothes, and John pulled away to begin working on removing Sherlock's tuxedo jacket. It was removed with relative ease and then a pair of large hands began working to divest John of his clothing as well. When both men were stripped down to almost nothing their lips reunited in a tender kiss. Their movements were now unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. In John's mind they did; They had the rest of their lives to be together. He felt himself smiling, and when Sherlock pulled back he was smiling as well.

Sherlock allowed John to steer him over to the bed and lay him down in the center of the rose petal heart. He looked so perfect like that, hair disheveled, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, lips red from kissing and face so open, so unguarded. It was certainly a picturesque moment, but John wouldn't dare leave now to go get a camera. He climbed onto the bed, hovered over Sherlock, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"I love you," he said. Sherlock only grunted in response and lifted his hips, allowing John to remove the final article of clothing he was wearing, and Sherlock was left fully exposed beneath him. John paused once more, completely taken aback at the sight of Sherlock spread out beneath him in the middle of a rose petal heart, wearing nothing but his wedding ring. John realized this was not 'shagging his flatmate' or even 'taking his fiancé to bed'. He was making love to his husband and the thought of it made John so happy his cheeks hurt from smiling. He smiled down at Sherlock, who in turn propped himself up on his elbows and stared at John, his expression both amused and questioning.

"You're gorgeous," John murmured, mostly to himself. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but his voice was affectionate as he smiled at John.

"Yes, well, you can admire my beauty later. As for now..."

John didn't let him finish his sentence. He recaptured Sherlock's lips and allowed long, thin fingers to help him out of his own pants. Once John was freed of all his clothing Sherlock's hands began to roam across John's skin, hot and only slightly clammy.

John was glad they hadn't waited until marriage. It was nice to already be so comfortable with Sherlock, to know exactly where to put his lips to drive him mad, to know exactly what buttons to push to have his lover writhing beneath him.

John might have taken a bit longer than usual to prepare Sherlock, but this was their first time together as husbands. He wanted it to be as enjoyable as possible for all parties involved. Sherlock, however, was a bit less appreciative of the extra preparation.

"I'm not going to break, John!" he snapped. "Get on with it!"

"Always the impatient one," John mumbled, though he decided to add a little extra stimulation to appease his husband. When his lips closed around Sherlock he appeared to forget every word of his expansive vocabulary, save for one name which he repeated on every exhale. By the time John figured Sherlock was ready he was a quivering mess, and when he finally took hold of Sherlock's hips and thrust in Sherlock cried out so loud John was certain all of England knew what was going on.

From that moment on the only sounds in the room were those of heavy breathing and declarations of love whispered against hot skin. John and Sherlock moved together as one being, so in tune with each other that John wasn't sure where his body ended and Sherlock's began. He had never felt closer to Sherlock as he had in that moment, with his legs wrapped around his waist and arms cradling him close to his chest. When Sherlock's arms tightened around John, he pulled away from where he'd been lavishing Sherlock's neck to kiss his lips and, when Sherlock cried out for a second time John cried out with him.

After they cleaned up John and Sherlock lay curled up together beneath the now rumpled duvet and a scattering of rose petals, legs intertwined and arms wrapped around each other. John nuzzled his face into Sherlock's neck and sighed, tightening his hold on him. Sherlock was as close to sleeping as he had been in days, but he was awake enough to notice this, and he opened his eyes to look at John.

"Ev'rything 'lright?" he asked, his words slurring together. John nodded his head, then stretched his neck to kiss Sherlock. It was a chaste kiss; nothing like the ones they'd shared earlier, but it held much more meaning to John, kissing his husband after they'd been joined in every way possible way that didn't involve some sort of freakish surgery. Sherlock kept his eyes closed long after the kiss, and John began to wonder if he'd finally fallen asleep. Then Sherlock somehow found a way to move closer to John and kissed him again. That time when John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock's still closed, he knew he was actually asleep. He was sleeping with a smile on his face. John was sure he would be too.

___________________________________________________________

The next morning John woke up to Sherlock pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He kept his eyes closed and pretended to still be sleeping, wondering what else Sherlock would do. However, it was nearly impossible to trick Sherlock so instead of continuing, he laughed and ran a hand through John's hair.

"Good morning." John sighed and opened his eyes, smiling at Sherlock and giving him a closed-mouth kiss, keeping in mind the fact that neither man had brushed his teeth yet. After a shared shower and quick breakfast eaten while they were still in their matching robes, complimentary of the hotel, Sherlock and John dressed, left the hotel, and their honeymoon officially began.

The two weeks that followed were a blur in John's memory. He remembered thinking that while Broadway shows were not something he was particularly fond of, seeing the way Sherlock's eyes lit up when he watched them was. He remembered thinking that while Sherlock looked incredibly attractive when he was happy and his smile took up his entire face and made his eyes crinkle, he was most attractive when completely enraptured with something, eyes widened and mouth hanging open in a childlike wonder.

John had a particularly fond memory of him and Sherlock joining the 'mile high club' on their flight from Los Angeles to Sydney, and an even fonder memory of them watching fireworks above the Sydney House Opera from the balcony of their hotel room, after having spent the entire day there, touring backstage and then watching some ballet show John couldn't remember the name of.

Though John had enjoyed all of their honeymoon immensely so far, it wasn't until their flight from Sydney to Paris that things started to get really interesting. Sherlock had been deducing the life stories of fellow passengers as a means of keeping both himself and John entertained on the long and tiresome flight, and the woman sitting to John's left had taken an interest in their conversation. She asked Sherlock to "read" her, and he'd deduced, among other things, that she was meeting her lover in Paris, against the wishes of her friends and family.

"You're spot on!" She said, staring at Sherlock with her eyebrows raised and her eyes wide. "That's amazing."

"Isn't it?" John said, turning to smile at Sherlock. The woman smiled fondly as she watched the two of them, then reached over to to touch John's arm. Sherlock tensed beside him, but John reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. Sherlock kept his gaze on the young woman, apparently still deducing. The woman, oblivious, continued to speak.

"I mean, everyone thinks I'm just in it for the money or something, but I really do love him." Sherlock remained silent, but John knew it would be best for this conversation to continue, so he did his best to keep it going.

"So he's rich?"

"Yeah, his wife was loaded. When she died he got everything."

"Sorry," Sherlock said, " Did you say his wife? How old was she? How old is this man?"

"Only 42. His wife didn't die of old age, you see. She was ... she was murdered." Sherlock immediately perked up, and John sent him a warning look. Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes at John before turning his attention back onto the woman. She looked back and forth between them with a sad sort of look on her face and nodded. "Yeah, it was a dreadful ordeal, he says. Found her in the woods, bludgeoned to death. They never found out who did it."

"Really?" Sherlock sounded genuinely fascinated, and John sighed, thinking this was going to be a long flight. "How long ago was this?"

"Several years ago." She glanced around them before leaning over John to whisper to Sherlock. "It was the craziest thing. He said the only evidence they had were footprints. The guy who found her said he saw both human and animal footprints leaving the site. The only thing was, it looked like there was only one paw making the animal prints. How could that happen?"

"Yes ... how?" Sherlock's eyes glazed over as he sat back in his seat, and John knew he'd lost him. With a sigh of resignation he pulled out a book he'd brought with him and tried very hard not to pay attention to the way the woman beside him was staring at Sherlock.

The rest of the plane ride passed in a slightly awkward silence, and when John and Sherlock stepped off the plane they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're here," Sherlock said, holding out one arm in a grand gesture as he draped another across John's shoulders. "In Paris! The city of love." Sherlock leaned in and gave John a peck on the lips, then moved to his jawline and began peppering it with kisses. John swatted him away with a smile on his face.

"Alright, just because we're in Paris does not mean you get to be all mushy and romantic. It's creepy." Sherlock's jaw dropped in mock hurt and he gasped comically loud.

"Oh John, you wound me," he said holding a hand to his heart. John just laughed and moved out from under Sherlock's arm. He grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and led him to baggage claim. A sleek black car with tinted windows was waiting outside the airport for them, and as they rode to their hotel John was at the window, taking in the sights and thanking his lucky stars once more for allowing him to be in this situation. He'd always dreamed of going on holiday in Paris with his lover, and now here he was, on his honeymoon, in this beautiful city.

"I must say this is rather nice," Sherlock said from where he was looking out the other window. John turned to look at him, but his eyes were glued to something outside that John couldn't see. His face was blank, but his eyes were bright and excited. John smiled to himself, praising himself on how observant he was when it came to Sherlock, priding himself on the fact that he could see what others couldn't.

He reached for Sherlock's hand, which was resting on his knee, and when he grabbed it Sherlock didn't look at him. He did, however, begin stroking John's ring with his thumb, and the gesture made John's face flush.

They arrived at the hotel and checked in, and spent some time just resting in their hotel room. They were both a bit jet-lagged from the long flight, and had plenty of time to explore Paris after they'd both had a good nap. They slept curled up on the bed together, wearing the same clothes they'd worn on the plane, and when they woke up they went for a stroll down the Champs-Élyssées.

They stopped for dinner at a restaurant near their hotel, and John felt as if he'd been placed in some sort of overly-romantic movie. The restaurant was both indoor and outdoor, and they'd managed to snag a seat right at the edge of the indoor section, though they might as well have been outside. It was lovely though. The night air was chilled, but not terribly so where a jacket couldn't keep him warm. The sky was dark and peppered with stars, and the candle sitting on the table before him made Sherlock look as if he'd been plucked from off the cover of a romance novel. The light from the flame flickered in his eyes, that remained fixed on John's face The shadows dancing on Sherlock's angular face made him look like something from a dream. John was almost convinced he was dreaming, until Sherlock reached out and placed his hand on John's, and he was reminded that Sherlock was in fact sitting before him, and that all of this was reality.

"John," Sherlock said quickly, his eyes darting to the side. "I must say that ... I'm very happy here, with you. This is better than I could have imagined."

"I love you too." Sherlock smiled at him then, and in that moment John swore it was impossible to love Sherlock more than he did then. Of course, he'd had that thought every day for a while now, and he was always proven wrong. Sherlock began gently running his fingers up and down John's arm.

"The only thing that would make this honeymoon better would be a locked room murder, or just a murder in general." He shrugged. "Something for me to solve, you know."

John lost it. He didn't care that they were surrounded by people, and he didn't care that they were all giving him dirty looks. He laughed anyway. He laughed so much his eyes watered. He was just so incredibly happy, and he loved Sherlock so much, and he didn't care who knew. He stood up, walked around the table, and grabbed Sherlock's face, kissing him hard and fervently. Sherlock raised a hand to John's cheek, but other than that remained still. His soft lips slid against John's and then a tentative tongue swiped along his bottom lip.

John pulled away, and when he saw the hurt look in Sherlock's eyes he gave him a quick kiss.

"Not here." Sherlock's eyes lit up and he started to stand, but John pressed on his shoulders to keep him seated. "We haven't paid the check." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded his head. John began looking around for a waiter, and caught sight of a familiar face sitting at a table in the center of the room. It was the woman from the plane, sitting across a man who certainly did not look 42. His hair had no traces of grey, his face had no wrinkles, and he had the physique of a twenty-something year old athlete. John was jealous for a moment, until he remembered that Sherlock Holmes was his husband, had chosen to be his husband, and he was alright again.

"Sherlock," he said, reaching down to grab his shoulder. Sherlock looked up at him, then followed his line of sight to where the couple was sitting. He looked up at John with a blank expression, and for a second John thought he'd made a mistake, but then a wide grin spread across Sherlock's face and he was out of his seat.


	7. The Honeymoon pt. 2

"Well hello there! Small world, isn't it?"

John watched from several feet away as Sherlock sauntered up to the table, a big, fake grin plastered on his face. This was going to be interesting, John thought as he watched from his seat. Sherlock had told him to stay put in case the waiter came by so he could grab the check. Sherlock turned and pointed to John, who raised his hand in greeting when all eyes were focused on him. The woman waved back, then looked back at Sherlock. John remained seated and kept his eyes on Sherlock. He had one large hand splayed out on the table, leaning casually on the table and facing the young woman from the plane. She was smiling up at him, and speaking animatedly, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Sherlock leaned in close to the woman and seemed to whisper something in her ear. Her face flushed, and she looked up at Sherlock, an impish grin on her face. She nodded her head, then stood from her seat and began to follow Sherlock. John was about to get up and go after them, but Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and gave him an affirming smile, letting him know everything was okay. John nodded his head, and Sherlock turned back around, following the woman out of the main dining area of the restaurant.

They returned several moments later, the woman trailing behind Sherlock with a dreamy expression on her face. Concerned, John looked to Sherlock and he noticed the slight change in his disposition. He only carried himself that way when he was on a case, more specifically when he was about to wrap up a case. His eyes were bright and he was radiating energy. To any stranger his face would have looked blank, but John saw the elation bubbling just beneath the surface. He shifted in his seat and waited to see what was about to unfold.

Sherlock approached the table once more, and the woman sat back down in her seat. She began talking to the man across from her, a smile on her face, obviously oblivious to what it was she had just done. After several moments Sherlock turned waved John over. He raised an eyebrow, but stood from his seat and made his way to the table.

"John, you know Joceline." John nodded his head and smiled at the woman, thinking that the name suited her quite nicely. Sherlock gestured to the man seated across from her. "This is Lieutenant Jim Laurent. Jim, meet my husband, Captain John Watson." John nodded at the man, who began to stand. Joceline reached out towards him, her face slightly worried as he gripped the table for support.

"Oh, Jimmy, you don't have to-"

"Nonsense, Joceline," he said, his voice gruff and slightly strained. John watched with wide eyes as the man stood to his full height, taller than Sherlock, and raised his hand in a salute. John stood at attention and saluted back, his body moving without his mind telling it to. Laurent began to sit again, and something caught John's eye. He looked down and saw that the man's trouser leg had lifted a bit, and instead of seeing part of an ankle or a calf, John saw a flash of metal.

"Prosthetic leg," Sherlock whispered into John's ear. John turned to look at him, but he was looking down at his phone.

"I'm terribly sorry for having interrupted your dinner, but I couldn't help myself from popping over. You were such lovely company on the plane ride over here. And what a coincidence that we'd all end up here!"

"It must be fate," John contributed, earning a pleased look from Sherlock. Joceline watched them with a smile on her face and nodded.

"Yes, it must be. Do tell me, what are your plans for tomorrow? Perhaps we could meet up somewhere!" Laurent narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn't see because she was still beaming up at Sherlock. "Maybe you could show off that trick of yours again." Now she turned to her boyfriend. "It's amazing, this thing he does."

"That does sound lovely," Sherlock said, glancing down at his phone with a smile. "But I think Jimmy here will be otherwise occupied."

"What?" John, Joceline, and Lieutenant Laurent all turned to stare at him with confused expressions.

"What do you mean?" Laurent bellowed. John noticed his fists clenching, and the murderous look he was giving Sherlock, and bristled. Sherlock simply turned and looked over his shoulder, then gestured to someone John couldn't see.

"Over here!"

The next thing John knew, there was a swarm of police officers around them, and Laurent was being put into handcuffs.

"What the hell is going on?" He was shouting, trying to wrench himself free. He set himself off balance and toppled over, taking several officers with him. There was a lot of shouting, and a lot of movement, and all John could do was look on in amazement, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. He looked to Sherlock, who was watching the scene unfold with a blank face, his hands clasped behind his back. John noticed he was no longer holding his mobile phone.

"Sherlock?"

"He killed his wife." Sherlock turned towards him, though his eyes were fixed on Joceline's heartbroken face. She stared back at him, dumbfounded, then looked down at her lover with tears in her eyes.

"What do you mean? How can you say that?"

"His leg."

"What about it?" Joceline shouted, her eyes wild and blazing. John took a cautionary step backwards, towards Sherlock, and felt a hand resting on his shoulder.

"You said there were footprints at the site. One paw? Honestly you can't be that daft." John turned around to stare at him for a moment, and when Sherlock's eyes met his he finally understood.

"One leg, one paw." Sherlock's face lit up and he nodded before pressing a quick kiss to John's temple.

"Brilliant, you are," he murmured. "Granted nowhere near as brilliant as me but you're getting there John."

"Gee, thanks."

"Sorry to interrupt such a tender moment for you two, but how can you possibly believe that my Jimmy is a murderer?" Sherlock used the hand that wasn't resting on John's shoulder to gesture to the man being helped back up by police officers.

"His leg."

"What about his damn leg?" Sherlock sucked in a breath and John readied himself for the string of deductions about to be spun.

"He lost his leg in battle. He was invalidated and sent home, forced to live on an army pension. I've got an invalidated army man of my own so I know how much that can hurt a man. I could see it in his eyes, the pain that so often comes with a forced discharge." Sherlock looked down at John then and squeezed his shoulder. John covered Sherlock's hand with his own and smiled up at him. Sherlock smiled back before turning his attention back onto the distraught woman in front of them.

"But he said he was okay," she said, her voice shaking. "He had Laura."

"She provided him with financial stability, the one thing he was unable to provide for himself after his return. She took over as the head of the household and she never let him forget about it. Isn't that right, Jimmy?"

All eyes turned to the man currently in handcuffs, who was staring daggers at Sherlock. He was completely unfazed by the death glare however, and continued speaking at rapid fire speed.

"He got tired of it. He's a man. He was supposed to be the head of the household. The breadwinner. He wasn't, and it plagued him to the very core of his being that he wasn't. You told me yourself he likes to be in charge. I assume the late Mrs. Laurent was not as submissive as you. I found an article on her from several years prior to her death and I could tell she was not the type of woman to simply back down to any man, not even her husband." John was still struggling to figure out how Sherlock had put this all together. Though he knew it would all be explained eventually he still couldn't help but try and get some more information for himself to see if he could put the pieces together.

"How long did you say it was between the time he came back and the time she met her unfortunate end?"

"Three months," Lieutenant Laurent answered, shocking everyone. Even Sherlock looked a little startled as he continued speaking.

"Three months for you to get fed up. But you couldn't divorce her, no, because then you'd lose the money. So you did the next beat thing and killed her, carefully constructing the scene to look like an animal attack, and wearing a paw print shoe to try and really sell it. You thought the police would be too dense to notice it was only one paw, and though they weren't they weren't smart enough to make the connection. I, however, am quite smart, and so off to jail you go." 

"Fuck you, Sherlock Holmes," the lieutenant spat, lunging towards him. He was immediately restrained by several police officers and Sherlock smirked at him.

"No thank you. Seeing as how I'm currently on my honeymoon, I think that's my husband's job."

"Sherlock-" John pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the whispers surrounding them and the strange look Joceline was giving Sherlock. He sighed and reached for Sherlock's hand. "Come on, let's get to the hotel." Sherlock laced his fingers though John's and raised an eyebrow at the lieutenant.

"See?" Sherlock was obviously trying to keep a smile off his face as he looked down at Joceline, who was had yet to move an inch since the police had arrived. "So sorry. Perhaps you should have listened to your friends and family." John gave a harsh tug and practically dragged Sherlock out of the restaurant. They walked in silence for almost an entire block before Sherlock spoke. "Is everything alright John? You seem tense."

"I'm fine." And he really was. John was a bit embarassed at what Sherlock had said, but he was used to Sherlock's openness with their relationship by now. After he thought about it, he realized it was actually quite funny, what Sherlock had said, and he allowed himself to chuckle at the memory. He gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze and turned to look at him. "How'd you figure it out?"

"It was simple, really. I talked to Joceline a bit more on the plane and gathered more information on the late wife while you were sleeping. Then I did some more research while you were napping in the hotel."

"I was never asleep on the plane."

"Yes you were. You fell asleep reading that book of yours. It was only for a short while though. I can assure you you didn't miss anything of importance." John frowned as he turned away from Sherlock.

"I don't think I'll ever understand how your mind works."

"You know how I-"

"Your mind palace, yes, mixed with pure genius." Sherlock chuckled at John's comment and tightened his hold on John's hand. They walked in comfortable silence for several blocks, and it wasn't until they reached the street their hotel was on that John spoke again.

"How much information did you get out of Joceline?"

"Quite a bit. It was easy too. She's just like any other woman, give her the right smile or let your hand linger just a bit and you can get any information you want out of them."

"Hold on a minute," John said, stopping and turning to face Sherlock. "Do you mean you flirted with her to get information?" Sherlock have a half-hearted shrug and averted his eyes, looking like an ashamed puppy.

"I suppose you could say that." John sighed and let go of Sherlock's hands to cover his own face.

"That explains why she was looking at you like that."

"Pardon?"

"Sherlock, you can't do that. Here you've been acting like a bloody Casanova with Joceline and you're a married man!" John let his hands fall away from his face and schooled his features into an expressionless mask. "You're married to me." Sherlock's eyes widened and his brow furrowed, but rather than look apologetic or even a bit remorseful he only looked confused, as if he didn't see what the problem was. John supposed he might not have; As brilliant as Sherlock was he was far from being an expert on what was socially acceptable behaviour. John reached out and took his hand, and they continued their journey to the hotel in silence.

Sherlock stood back while John swiped the keycard and the two of them shuffled inside, then set about getting undressed for the night.

"I'm sorry, John."

John looked up from removing his shoes and watched Sherlock fiddle nervously with the shirt he'd just taken off. He let his eyes roam over Sherlock's bare torso, drinking in the sight of his beautiful milky skin and defined abdominal muscles. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes, now bright and apologetic, and his heart clenched in his chest.

"Come here," he said, holding out a hand. Sherlock took a tentative step forward, cool eyes gauging John's for any sign of anger. John just smiled and wiggled his fingers, and soon Sherlock was standing between his legs with his hands on John's shoulders. John leaned forward and pressed his cheek against Sherlock's stomach, and felt his hands twitch.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Of course. Just, no more flirting ... unless it's with me."

"Alright. I'm sure I can manage to get information through other methods." John laughed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso, and they remained still for several moments. John felt Sherlock take in a breath,obviously about to ask another question. "Does my momentary lapse of judgment mean there will be no sex tonight?" John couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he leaned back and looked up at Sherlock.

"We're in Paris, we're on our honeymoon, and ignoring the unsavoury methods you used you've just solved a case brilliantly, and you know what that does to me. Of course there will be sex." Sherlock's eyes lit up and he appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Alright then," he said, reaching down to brush his knuckles gently across John's cheek, "Shall we begin?"

____________________________________________________________

The next morning began with breakfast in bed courtesy of the hotel staff and an anonymous Sherlock Holmes fan and well-wisher. John tried not to think too hard about who this 'well-wisher' might be and enjoyed the food that had been brought up to them. After breakfast Sherlock surprised John with an engraved padlock, so as soon as they showered and dressed for the day they went off in search of a bridge to place it on. After a series of several cab rides they found themselves standing on the Pont des Arts, each with a hand on the padlock as they searched for a place to attach it. After a moment they were able to find a place for their lock, and then Sherlock held the key out towards John. 

"Care to do the honours?" he asked with a smile on his face. John smiled back and took the key from Sherlock's grasp, allowing his fingers to linger on Sherlock's skin far longer than necessary. Sherlock stepped forward and wrapped his arms around John, as he held his arm out, and with a flick of the wrist the key was tossed into the water below. He rocked onto the balls of his feet and tilted his chin up, searching for Sherlock's lips. 

John lost track of how much time they stood there kissing, but honestly he didn't care. He felt Sherlock's tongue swipe along his bottom lip and John willingly allowed him in. Something reminded him that it probably wasn't very appropriate to snog in public like they were. John quickly squashed the part of his brain telling him to step away from Sherlock, and embraced the one telling him to move his hands from where they were resting at his sides. He lifted a hand to Sherlock's hair and began massaging his scalp, and Sherlock hummed in response. 

When they finally separated John continued to hold onto Sherlock for fear that his knees would give out, and Sherlock remained still and allowed John to cling to him, gently stroking his back with his hand. John felt Sherlock press his lips to the top of his head, and he smiled.

"You find this incredibly romantic, don't you?" Sherlock murmured against John's hair. John nodded in response, and felt Sherlock breathe out a puff of air that most likely puffed his hair up. "You do know this whole lock business is the equivalent of carving our initials into a tree in your backyard." John laughed then, and stepped away from Sherlock.

"Says the man who bought the lock. And had it engraved."

"Only the best for my husband," Sherlock said, draping a long arm over John's shoulders and pulling him close. John looped a finger through Sherlock's belt loop and they walked along the rest of the bridge together.

They ended up heading to le Fumoir for a quick snack before they went to the Louvre, where they ended up spending several hours. A good thirty minutes of that time was spent with Sherlock staring at the Mona Lisa, eyebrows furrowed and hand held up to his chin. It wasn't until they'd returned to the hotel that John decided to inquire as to why Sherlock had spent so much time with one painting.

"I just don't understand the ... the hype about that painting. She's not even that attractive."

"Sherlock! It's a beautiful work of art and ... and ... " John sat down on the bed and began to remove his shoes. Sherlock sat down beside him and rested his head on John's shoulder.

"Yes, it's art. I get that. I just think it's a bit overrated."

"Just like the love lock bridge?" Sherlock shrugged, and John sighed. "God, you're such a romantic." Sherlock laughed and sat up, allowing John to fully remove his shoes and coat. Sherlock flopped down onto the bed and spread out his limbs, nearly encompassing the entire mattress. John stared at him from where he was seated. His shirt had risen up slightly, and John reached up to stroke the soft skin above Sherlock's waistline.

"So, what are we to do now? Our reservation at l'Astrance isn't for another few hours." Sherlock rolled onto his side and curled up beside John, resting his head in his lap.

"I'm sure we could find a way to occupy ourselves." John felt a hand fiddling with the button of his trousers and grinned, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock's forehead.

"What did you have in mind?" Sherlock sat up and grinned wickedly at John.

"I have a few experiments I've been wanting to try." He began lightly stroking John's thigh with one finger. "We might have time for a few depending on what your refractory period is." John caught Sherlock's hand with his own and pressed a kiss to his open palm.

"Well then," he said, "I suppose we should get started, Mr. Watson-Holmes."


	8. Heart Grows Fonder

John stared down at the frame in his hands. It was a picture of himself and Sherlock, mid-snog, standing on the Pont des Arts after having secured their love lock. He had to admit for a candid shot, the picture quality was exquisite. He figured it would be just their luck that a French photography enthusiast who also happened to be a fan of Sherlock Holmes would be hanging out on that same bridge as them, on the same day. The fact that the young man had opted to send them the photo via email rather than sell it to a tabloid was also hard to believe. The entire thing reeked of Mycroft, but John decided not to question it. It was a lovely picture after all, and he was glad to have it.

John heard footsteps as ending the stairs, and placed the photo back onto the mantle before turning to greet Sherlock as he came in. His face was flushed and his hair was messier than usual, both indications that he'd been under stress recently. Going by the menacing look in his eyes and the way his mouth was set, John guessed he'd just returned from a meeting with Mycroft.

"What did he do or say this time?" He asked, heading towards the kitchen to begin making Sherlock a much needed cuppa. Sherlock appeared moments later with a scowl on his face and a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Your brother. That's who you've just seen, correct?"

"Correct," Sherlock murmured, staring at John as if he was a new species of human that had just been discovered. "How did you know?" John shrugged, and he turned to face Sherlock, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know. Maybe your powers of observation are finally rubbing off on me." There was a wicked gleam in Sherlock's eyes as he bent down to kiss John, pulling back to gently brush his lips against his.

"Soon that won't be the only thing rubbing off on you." John laughed and pushed Sherlock away so he could tend to the tea. Sherlock left to remove his coat and scarf, and John carried the tea into the sitting room.

"I'm going to Greece." John paused in his movements, but recovered quickly and handed Sherlock his cup. He settled down beside Sherlock on the sofa and took a quick sip of his own tea.

"What for?"

"Mycroft needs me to retrieve some documents from an informant there. Apparently I'm the only person he trusts with the job." John took a sip as he stared up at Sherlock, whose eyes were glued to the mantle over the fireplace.

"When are we leaving?" Sherlock bit his lip and looked down; A nervous habit, John had learned. That couldn't be good. "What?"

"It will only be me going I'm afraid. Apparently it's been requested that I travel alone." John fought to keep his face straight and attempted to shrug nonchalantly.

"Alright then. How long will you be gone?" Sherlock sighed as he sat down beside John and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"That is unknown. You see, this informant is a criminal investigator in Greece. In return for the documents he's asked for help on his most difficult case. The sooner I solve the case the sooner I get the documents and can return home to you."

"Well you better solve that case quickly then," John said, reaching over to pat Sherlock's knee. Sherlock sighed and burrowed into John, curling his legs beneath himself and resting his head on John's shoulder.

"This is completely unfair. We've been married for only a month and already we're going to be separated."

"We are not going to be separated. You are simply going away for a bit to work. Everything will be fine." Sherlock took a sip of his tea and nestled further into John, who wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. Sherlock only got this cuddly when he was agitated or otherwise upset and needed comforting, and John was ways happy to oblige no matter what his own mood was.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

"Alright then, I've got nothing planned for tomorrow, so I can go with you to the airport to give you a proper send off." Sherlock groaned and John felt him shake his head.

"Unnecessary." John pulled back and frowned. Was the idea of going with Sherlock to the airport really unecessary? Especially since he didn't know when Sherlock would be returning? He opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut him off by turning his head and pressed his lips against John's. John raised a hand to Sherlock's cheek and he pulled away, smirking at John as his eyes bore into his. John could see the the crease forming between his brows, and he understood all that Sherlock was telling him.

"We can skype," he offered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but otherwise made no other sound or movement. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and his movement was restricted by Sherlock's arms wrapped around him. "Or ... not. If you'll be too busy."

"I'm sure I could make time for you."

"Alright," John said, shifting again. "Glad to hear it." He extricated himself from Sherlock's embrace and went into the kitchen. His stomach had been rumbling for quite a while now; He was surprised Sherlock hadn't commented on it. After several minutes of fruitless searching, Sherlock materialised beside John and peered over his shoulder at the poorly stocked cupboard in front of them.

"I suppose we'll be having takeaway tonight," he said, reaching into John's pocket to retrieve his cell phone. John grabbed his wrist and stopped him, and a Sherlock let out a light huff before pulling his hand out. John turned around to face him.

"We're going out."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear it. You're leaving tomorrow and I don't know when I'll see you again after that."

"John your making it seem like-"

"Put your coat on." John used his most commanding tone of voice, which he knew Sherlock would respond to immediately. He wasn't sure how or why it worked, but the minute the words had left John's mouth Sherlock had begun moving towards where his coat was hanging by the door. John smiled to himself and followed after him.

They ended up having dinner at Angelo's, then walked back to Baker Street. By the time they reached the bedroom John was too tired to even bother changing into his pyjamas. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was feeling Sherlock climbing into bed and curling up against his side.

When he woke up Sherlock was gone. The flat was empty, and very quiet. It was strange, John thought as he was making tea, that even when Sherlock was home the flat wasn't usually much noisier than this. However, John felt as if the silence would drive him mad by the time Sherlock returned.

John booted up his laptop and checked Skype to see if Sherlock was online. It was highly unlikely, he knew, but he figured it couldn't hurt to check. There was no green dot beside Sherlock's name, so John closed his laptop and went to have a shower.

He decided to go for a walk to try and keep his mind off of Sherlock's absence. He spent some time at a local pub, but found it hard to focus on the football game they were showing. All he could think about was Sherlock and wonder when he would see his face again. Twenty four hours hadn't even passed since he'd last seen Sherlock and he was already missing him like crazy.

John logged into Skype again when he returned, and smiled when he saw that Sherlock was in fact online. He received a call from him almost as soon as he logged in; Sherlock had been waiting for him.

He pressed 'accept' and then Sherlock's face was on his screen. He looked as perfect as ever, even with the low quality video feed. To anyone else his face would have appeared to be blank, but John could see the annoyance and frustration showing on his features.

"Hello," John said smiling. He couldn't let Sherlock see how upset he was when he was already apparently in a bad mood. Still, John's smile didn't seem to affect him and he sighed.

"I want to come back."

"But you've just gotten there, haven't you?" Sherlock gave him a look that made him feel like an ignorant child and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and?" John shrugged, picking up the laptop and carrying it into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"I want tea." John set Sherlock down on the counter beside the kettle and set about making himself a cuppa. "Now, what is it that's happened that's got you all upset and wanting to come home?"

"Nothing happened. I just don't want to be here. It's too hot and these people are all idiots and the case is equal amounts tiresome and frustrating."

"What do you mean?"

"Three men were found dead, strangled, in three different areas of town. The time of death for all three men has been determined to be the same, meaning that even though the method used to kill them all is the same, it's obvious it wasn't the same person doing it."

"Maybe they moved the bodies around after killing them?"

"No, two men had their necks snapped. If they'd been moved at all we'd be able to tell." John grabbed a cup from a cupboard overhead and poured himself some tea. He leaned against the counter and took a sip.

"Alright, sounds like a tough one. But you'll solve it. You always do." Sherlock sighed and looked directly into the camera, so that it seemed he was looking right at John.

"This would be a lot easier if you were here." John starts to question why that would be, but realizes that must just be Sherlock-speak for 'I miss you' and closes his mouth. He picks up his laptop and balances it on one arm while carrying his tea cup into the sitting room. John sits on the sofa and props the laptop on his knee. Sherlock has been silent this entire time, and when John looks down he sees that Sherlock's head is turned. His lips are moving, but John hears nothing. Sherlock must have muted himself. John sipped his tea and waited for Sherlock to finish speaking to whoever is in the room with him, and when Sherlock finally came off mute John's tea was long gone.

"That was Sergeant Lerwick. The informant. Apparently I'm needed." He sighed heavily and covered his face with his hands. John could see how upset he was, and it hurt that there was nothing he could do about it.

"It's alright. Just remember, the sooner you solve it the sooner you'll be back here." Sherlock's hands slid from his face and he nodded, staring into the camera again.

"I suppose you're right." His eyes darted to the side before he leaned in close. "I love you."

"Love you too. Go solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiled. It was a genuine smile that brightened his face and made his eyes crinkle. It was the last thing John saw before the screen went blank, and he was alone once again. The flat was eerily quiet. John turned on the telly to drown out the silence.

As the days went by, John became more and more distressed by Sherlock's absence. He'd stopped working at the surgery to be a full time partner (in more ways than one) to Sherlock, and thus had nothing to do during the day to keep himself occupied and keep his mind off of how much he missed his husband.

One evening while he was watching crap telly and drowning his sorrows in tea, he heard the doorbell ring. His heart was pounding as he went down the stairs, the tea and television long forgotten.

He opened the door with a smile on his face, and his smile fell when he saw not Sherlock standing before him but Victor.

"Um ... hello." Victor smiled warmly at him.

"Hello John. Is Sherlock home?" John tried not to let his disappointment show on his face when he shook his head. Victor seemed to have noticed it though, because his brow furrowed. "Oh, have you ... is everything alright? He's not gone because you've had a domestic is he?"

"What? No. He's ... working. In Greece. Has been for the past week or so." Victor nodded his head and clasped his hands behind his back, and John wondered if he should invite him inside. "Would you like to-"

"Yes, thank you." John stepped aside and allowed Victor to come in, then closed the door and followed him up the stairs. Victor paused in the middle of the room and looked around, taking in his surroundings. John realized this was in fact his first time in Baker Street. While Victor examined the sitting room, John's eyes raked over his immaculate appearance. He was in a perfectly tailoured navy suit with a crisp white shirt. His shoes were so shiny John was sure he could see his own reflection in them. His auburn hair was perfectly coiffed and the waves of his hair seemed as if they'd been sculpted rather than just slicked back with what John was sure was a very expensive hair product. He looked exactly like the type of person Sherlock would be friends with. John began to wonder what Sherlock was doing settling down with such an average, everyday bloke like himself.

"Would you like some tea? I made some not too long ago and it's still hot."

"Sure. I'll get it myself, don't you worry."

"Oh, you're a guest-"

"It's fine. You sit down and rest. You look tired." John opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He didn't feel very tired. Perhaps Sherlock's absence was taking a toll on his physical appearance as well as his emotional well being. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Victor poured himself some tea. Luckily, Victor hadn't grabbed Sherlock's cup. John wasn't sure how he would have reacted if he had.

When Victor came into the sitting room he took a seat at the table in the middle of the room. John took a seat across from him, and they talked for a while. John learned that Sherlock and Victor had in fact been very close friends in the past, but had had a falling out several years after leaving university. He wouldn't tell John what had happened, but John wasn't exactly sure he wanted to know.

Victor was a rather pleasant person to be around, John learned. Despite the fact that for some reason he really didn't want to like him, Victor was kind, polite, very well educated, and witty. The conversation had been amiable, but when he left John breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be alone again.

Well, until he realized that being alone meant being without Sherlock.

Sherlock! He and John had usually talked on skype by now, but John had completely forgotten the minute his eyes had landed on Victor. He rushed to his laptop and turned it on. Of course, the minute he logged on he got a call from Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry I'm late I was-"

"Was it Mycroft?" Sherlock's face was completely blank. There were no traces of anger in his eyes, and for that John was glad. He relaxed a bit and shook his head.

"No. Victor, actually." Sherlock's eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his fringe.

"Victor? What was he doing there?"

"He came to see you. I told him you were in Greece. Then we had tea." Sherlock sat back a bit, and John could see the traces of a frown on his lips. "He didn't use your cup, if that's what you're worried about." Sherlock's mouth opened, then closed. He sighed.

"What did you talk about?"

"Nothing, really. He told me some things about your time in university. I told him some stuff about our honeymoon. He wasn't here for long."

"Alright then." Sherlock leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand. Several moments of silence passed with them just staring at their screens. This was different, John thought. Usually they talked the entire time they were on Skype. He hoped Sherlock's silence wasn't something to be too concerned with.

"How far have you come with the case?" Sherlock sighed and looked down. John took that as a 'not very far'. "Well, I know you'll get it eventually."

"Yes, yes, I know." Sherlock sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I just ... I just want to be done with it now. It's bad enough having an unsolved case, but it's even worse being away from you as well." John's lips twisted into a sad smile. Sherlock smiled back and shrugged.

They didn't stay on much longer, because Sherlock had a meeting with a member of the team working on the case with him. When John went to bed that night, he slept on Sherlock's pillow. He fell asleep breathing in the scent of Sherlock's shampoo.

Sherlock ended up staying in Greece for another two weeks. They talked every day on Skype, whether it be for hours or mere minutes. These conversations had become the highlight of John's day, but each time he logged off he felt worse than he had before speaking to Sherlock. He had no idea it was possible to miss someone so much.

At least Sherlock didn't seem to be as miserable as he was. Each time they talked he seemed to be closer to solving the case, and thus always looked that much happier when he appeared on John's laptop screen. Still, John wished he could see that face in person.

When he got the text from Sherlock that he was on his way to the airport, John immediately felt ten pounds lighter. There was a spring in his step when he went down to Tesco to get supplies for Sherlock's 'Welcome Home' dinner. He hadn't been allowed to make Sherlock's departure special, but there was no way Sherlock could stop him from indulging in the joy of his return.

John was just putting the finishing up with the chicken stir fry meal when he heard the door open. His heart skipped a beat and he turned off the stove before heading over to the door. He had to be careful, as the only light in the room came from the candles that John had placed. He figured it would help 'set the mood', as if they ever needed help in that area.

Sherlock walked into the room, holding two suitcases, and took a look around. His face was expressionless, but John knew better than to take that as a bad sign. Sherlock placed his suitcases down beside him and his eyes landed on John.

"You weren't at the airport." John's face fell.

"I ... what?"

"When I got off the plane. I was expecting you to be there. You weren't." John's heart sank to his stomach when he saw the hurt look on Sherlock's face. Of course he would have wanted him there. It was obvious on the first day that Sherlock had missed him. It only made sense that they should be reunited as soon as possible. John sighed and shrugged.

"Well you ... you didn't want me going with you to the airport. I figured ... "

"I didn't want a drawn out goodbye. I'm not overly fond of being away from you and I was hoping ..."

"Oh, Sherlock I'm sorry. I promise next time I'll be waiting for you at the airport with a bouquet of roses and a big sloppy kiss." Sherlock made a disgusted face and John had to actively fight against laughing.

"Oh, John, even if there was going to be a next time there would be no need for that."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I feel about -"

"No, no. What do you mean about there being no next time?"

"Oh. I mean just that. I am never going anywhere without you ever again. Your absence serves as a distraction to my thinking and takes a toll on my emotional well being as well."

"Is that your way of saying you missed me?" Sherlock responded by cupping John's face in his hands and kissing him fiercely, only pulling away with both men were nearly breathless. John stared up at him with wide unblinking eyes and his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips, savouring the familiar taste of Sherlock that lingered there. "I didn't know you were so ... affected. I mean, you seemed okay."

"I'll have you know I happen to be a fantastic actor."

"I'm not surprised." John reached up and ran a thumb along one of Sherlock's prominent cheekbones. Sherlock's eyelids lowered, but he kept his gaze fixed on John. "I'm sorry." Sherlock responded by shrugging and rolling his eyes.

"Don't be. Now ... " He lowered his hands to John's waist and pulled him close, nibbling at his ear. "Where's my welcome home present?" John kissed him. Slow and sweet, the way a welcome home kiss should be. Then Sherlock tightened his hold on John's hips and kissed him harder, and John pulled away.

"Your welcome home present is in the kitchen."

"Not hungry," Sherlock growls, trying to find John's lips again. John refuses at first, but Sherlock is persistent and it really had been a while.

"Well," he said when Sherlock dips is head down to kiss beneath his jawline. "I suppose I could help you work up an appetite." Sherlock laughs then, and steps away. He smiles at John and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"God, I missed you."


	9. The Game is Back On

By he time they ate dinner the food had gone cold and they had to re-heat it They ate at the table, John in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and Sherlock in nothing but his blue house coat. They shared heated looks across the table, and by the time he'd finished eating John was more than ready for a 'round two'. However, it appeared Sherlock had eaten next to nothing over the past few weeks and John wasn't going to do anything to discourage him from eating now when he was obviously so hungry. He sipped on his wine and waited, but the moment Sherlock swallowed his last bite of stir-fry John was out of his chair.

Sherlock's coat fell off and pooled around his feet when he stood up, and John was just beginning to start taking his shirt off when they heard the doorbell ring. Sherlock barely had enough time to cover himself up before Mycroft strolled into the sitting room. John and Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, and John tried not to laugh at the widening of Mycroft's eyes when he took in their appearances.

"I was hoping you'd be done with ... that, by now." Sherlock pulled his house coat tighter around himself and glared at his brother, though it wasn't very effective considering how red his face was. "It's good to see the novelty of your relationship has yet to wear off."

"Novelty? We've been together for about ten months now."

"Yes, but I know how easy it is for you to become bored."

"What do you want Mycroft?"

"Are you forgetting the entire purpose of your ... trip?"

If looks could kill, the glare Sherlock sent Mycroft would have killed him several times over. His face was still red, but it was purely because of anger, rather than embarrassment. He stalked over to where his suitcases were, still in front of the door, and opened one of them. He rifled through it a bit before holding up a manila envelope. Mycroft took it from his hand and left without another word.

Sherlock remained standing by the door, seething, so John went into the kitchen and started cleaning up their dinner.

"What are you doing?" John glanced at where Sherlock had materialized in the doorway.

"Doing the washing up."

"Why on Earth are you doing that when you could be doing something else?" Sherlock sauntered up up to him and wrapped his arms around John's shoulders. John leaned his head back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled.

"What, you mean you?" John felt, rather than saw Sherlock shrug.

"Well, to put it crudely, yes." John laughed and turned around to face Sherlock, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

"God, I really missed you." Sherlock dipped his head down to nibble at the soft skin of John's earlobe.

"Then prove it."

___________________________________________________________

It would be another two days before either Sherlock or John left the flat. Sherlock had put off notifying Lestrade of his return in favour of spending time with his husband, but eventually both Sherlock and John were itching to get back to work. Their honeymoon officially ended with a quick morning shag, then Sherlock called Lestrade while John took a shower. When he came back into the bedroom to get dressed Sherlock was attempting to put on a shirt and trousers at the same time. He did so with great difficulty, and John fought the urge to laugh at how flushed Sherlock's face was when he turned to him.

"I'm guessing there's a case then?"

"Three men dead so far. All bludgeoned to death and found in alleyways. The third has just been found, Lestrade is still at the crime scene. Let's go!" Sherlock darted out of the room and John followed after him. He grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone and found Sherlock waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He had a hand on his hip and was rubbing it absentmindedly, his eyes glazed over. John followed the movement of Sherlock's hand with his eyes as he descended the stairs.

"Ready?" He asked. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him and opened the door.

"What do you mean, 'am I ready'?"

"I mean that, aside from that ordeal in Paris, this is your first real case in weeks. I know you're eager to resume being Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective.

"My name is Sherlock Watson-Holmes now." Sherlock raised his hand. He hailed a cab, smirking over his shoulder at John. "I would have expected you of all people to remember that." A cab pulled up and Sherlock climbed inside. John sighed and climbed in after him.

"Well of course legally I know that's your name. I just assume you would stay Sherlock Holmes professionally. It would be simpler, and you've built up a reputation as-"

"I love being your husband more than I love being Sherlock Holmes." John turned to gape at Sherlock, who offered a small smile in return before turning to stare out the window. John reached over and curled his fingers around Sherlock's chin, turning his head back to kiss him. Sherlock's hand moved to rest on John's knee and his lips parted. John pressed further into the kiss and would I've ended up in Sherlock's lap if the cabbie hadn' started to bang on the partition. They separated with a giggle and laughed the rest of the way to the crime scene.

Sherlock got out the moment the cab came to a stop and as usual John was left to pay. When he caught up with Sherlock he was buzzing around the body with his magnifying glass, and everyone was standing around watching him with either disdain or keen interest. Lestrade's facial expression seemed to be a mix between the two. He caught John's eye as he approached and offered a friendly smile. John answered with a smile of his own and came to stand beside him. He crossed his arms and stared down at Sherlock. He was currently on his hands and knees, but his attention didn't seem to be on the corpse. His eyes had a far away look and John noticed he was breathing heavier than usual.

"Sherlock are you alright?"

"What? Yeah. Yes I'm ... fine." Sherlock stood up and began circling the body, and John noticed he seemed to be favoring his right leg.

"Are you alright Freak?" Donovan asked after appearing out of nowhere. "You're walking a bit weird." Sherlock spun around and pinned her with an icy look.

"I've just returned from my two week honeymoon . How do you expect me to be walking?" The look on Donovan's face was priceless, as was Lestrade's. Both looked equal parts shocked and horrified, though it seemed Lestrade was fighting a smile as well. John was sure he was going to burst a blood vessel, whether it be from holding g back his laughter or sheer embarrassment.

Once everyone calmed down a bit John was able to see that Sherlock did appear to be quite uncomfortable and possibly in pain, and the doctor in him took over. 

"Are you alright though, Sherlock? It does look like you're limping." Sherlock crossed over to him and shrugged.

"I will say my hip is bothering me some but I'm fine." John noticed the way he emphasized the word, obviously not willing to leave due to such a pedestian injury. John knew Sherlock would hate him for it, but he couldn't let him hobble around a crime scene. 

"Come on, let's get you home to rest that hip."

"John I'm-"

"Home. Now." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, but he held his ground and stood as tall as his 5'6" frame would allow him. Lestrade, Donovan, and the rest of the Scotland Yard workers looked on curiously at the couple, and John felt his face heat from the intensity of their stares. eventually Sherlock's shoulders slumped and he nodded his head.

"Alright," he said, "You win." John smiled, and Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Just because John is making me go home and rest does not mean you can take me off this case. I expect for you to notify me of any developments and trust that I will be in contact the moment John gives the okay for me to leave home." John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock's' shoulder, gently steering him away from the crime scene. As he turned to begin walking away, John saw Donovan nudge Anderson in the side.

"So demanding," she said just loud enough for everyone around them to hear, including John and Sherlock. John turned and glanced over his shoulder at Donovan, who was grinning maliciously at Sherlock. "Going by his brash personality and ... this... " She held a hand out towards Sherlock's injured hip. "It kind of makes you wonder just what he's like in bed." Both John and Sherlock spun around to face her with identical expressions of shock and disgust, and when John felt Sherlock tense up beside him he grabbed his arm and brought it across his own shoulders.

"Just for the record, Sally," he said, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist and pulling him close. "He's fucking fantastic."

Now it was Donovan's turn to gape as John and Sherlock walked away. Once they'd gotten a significant distance away from the crime scene, John felt Sherlock's head on his shoulder and he paused.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, John." Sherlock tightened his hold on John and nestled further into him, breathing deeply. "I just ... thank you." John brought his other arm around Sherlock and pulled him into a quick hug. 

"Any time." 

They soon returned to Baker Street, where John gave Sherlock's hip a proper evaluation. After deciding that nothing had been torn, John instructed Sherlock to remain in bed and he served as his personal doctor for the next few days, icing his hip, bringing him pain medication, and doing anything else Sherlock might require. In less than a week Sherlock was fully recovered, just in time to join Lestrade and company on what were basically door to door interrogations.

Thanks to Sherlock, Lestrade and his team had managed to create a triangular location of where they could possibly find the killer, using the locations of where the bodies had been found. With no other leads, they were forced to simply go door to door and ask the residents of that area if they had any information that could help, and hopefully they would be one step closer to finding their killer.

John remained in the background and silently observed while Sherlock and Lestrade questioned each resident, taking notes in his journal of anything that might be of use later, whether it be for solving the case or spicing up the blog entry he would write on it. After almost an hour of questioning it was starting to look like their efforts would be fruitless, but they pressed on, nearing desperation to find some sort of lead. 

John noticed Sherlock pounding on the door with more force than was warranted, but fought the urge to comment on it. Sherlock was already tense enough; John didn't want to add to his discomfort. 

The door opened and a burly man stepped into the light. John watched Sherlock's eyes scanned over the man, obviously deducing. His eyebrows rose suddenly and John noticed his eyes take on an almost predatory look, but thankfully, he kept whatever it was he had seen to warrant such a response to himself. The man's eyes drifted from John, to Lestrade, to Sherlock, and briefly back to John before settling on Sherlock.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice surprisingly pleasant considering his appearance. Sherlock and Lestrade exchanged a glance before Lestrade stepped back, allowing Sherlock to take over the questioning this time. Sherlock took a step closer to John before he began speaking.

"Hello, what is your name sir?"

"Rodney. Rodney Douglas."

"Well, Rodney, we're investigating a series of murders that have taken place near here. As a means of gathering information we're going around asking the residents-"

"Oh I don't live here," the man said. "This is my girlfriend's house."

"Girlfriend?" Sherlock asked, incredulous. "Really?" As soon as the words left Sherlock's lips the man was visibly upset, and John couldn't' blame him. Sure, this man probably wasn't the textbook definition of attractive, but that was no excuse for Sherlock's disbelief.

"Yes, really," the man said through clenched teeth. John saw the clenching of the man's jaw and the way his hands were balling into fists, and took a step closer to Sherlock, laying a hand at the small of his back.

"Is your girlfriend home? We'd like to speak with her." 

"No, she's not home. And even if she was I wouldn't let her talk to you freaks." With that he shut the door rather forcefully, leaving the three of them standing on the front step. John moved his hand from Sherlock's back to his hip and gave a slight squeeze, and Sherlock leaned into the touch. 

"Well," Lestrade said, turning around. "He seems like quite the character." Sherlock and John nodded their heads in synchronization.

"Yes, yes." Sherlock sighed and stepped away from John, turning to walk away from the house. "Wouldn't be surprised if we saw him again though ... perhaps in the midst of a domestic violence investigation."

"Really?" John asked. 

"Of course. You saw how he got when his girlfriend was mentioned."

"Maybe he reacted the way you did because you made it seem as if it was completely unbelievable that he is unable to obtain a girlfriend in the first place."

"Well, that is true. But did you see him? Almost everything about him screams homosexual. Not bi, completely gay."

"And just how did you come up with that deduction?" Lestrade asked as they walked to the next house.

"Well there was the fact that his voice was significantly higher than you'd expect from someone of his stature. That tends to be common among gay men, though I haven't the slightest idea why. Then there was the underwear."

"Sorry, his underwear?"

"Yes, it was visible above the waistline. Very particular brand. Then there's the excessive personal grooming. His eyebrows had been recently threaded, his hair was dyed and shows signs of having been dyed in the past. There was clear evidence that he uses quite a lot of product in his hair."

"And?" John asked, taking a step forward. "I use product in my hair."

"Seeing as how you're currently married to a man, John, I don't think your argument is extremely valid." John opened his mouth to retort but snapped it shut when he realized there was absolutely nothing he could say to that. Lestrade stifled a laugh, and John glared at him. Sherlock smirked, then took in a deep breath and continued with the rest of his deductions.

"He also seemed to really enjoy your ... appearance John. Speaking from personal experience you are a very attractive man to people of all genders." John bit his bottom lip and nodded his head, staring down at his feet. 

"Right, well, thanks I guess."

"Of course, darling." John looked up in time to catch Sherlock's smirk before he turned to Lestrade. "Let's go ahead and get this over with. We've still got several more houses." John gave a curt nod, then reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together. Sherlock showed now outward signs of having noticed this, but John felt the slight squeeze he gave as they walked to the next house.

It wouldn't be until several days later that another lead for the case was uncovered. John had been trying to convince Sherlock not to shoot holes in the walls when Lestrade had called. Sherlock dropped the gun he had been wrestling John over and ran to his phone, holding the phone to his ear and answering with a breathy hello.

John went to hide the gun, though he knew Sherlock would be able to find it in mere minutes when he did decide to shoot the walls again. When John came back into the sitting room Sherlock was waiting for him, already dressed in his coat and scarf.

"They've found another body." 

"That's great," John murmured, crossing the room to retrieve his coat and phone. "Same as the rest?"

"No," Sherlock said with a smile. John finished putting his coat on and stared up at him.

"I don't understand."

"The body of a young woman was found, believed to have died several days ago. Strangled, left in a ditch of all places. Absolutely nothing like the rest of the victims in any way."

"Alright," John said, because he could see the way Sherlock was practically buzzing with excitement. "What's so special about her then?"

"She just happens to be the girlfriend of a Mister Rodney Douglas."


	10. A Peek Into the Past

Sherlock was buzzing with excitement all the way to the crime scene. John watched him fondly from his seat across the cab, marveling at the fact that the man he loved could get so excited over a murder. He turned to look out the window at the city whizzing past, failing to comprehend that this was his life now. He was married to Sherlock Holmes, well, Sherlock Watson-Holmes now, world's only consulting detective. He was not only his partner in life, but his partner in crime, solving crimes, and blogging about it when he gets home while Sherlock lies on the couch and prays to the ceiling.

His life now consisted of regular trips to the morgue and to Scotland Yard, as well as regular trips to the bedroom for more carnal activities. It wasn't a life he'd ever pictured for himself, but now that he was living it he couldn't imagine things any differently.

The cab pulled to a stop and Sherlock bounded out of the vehicle, dashing over to where the body was, and John forced himself to snap out of his reverie. There would be plenty of time for appreciating how wonderful his life was later. Now, he had to help catch a murderer. He paid the cabbie and stepped out of the vehicle, meeting Sherlock at the edge of the crime scene. Sherlock was holding the tape up for John, and he smiled at him before he ducked under.

"Ta, Love." Sherlock beamed, then turned and headed in the direction of the large groups of people standing by a ditch. John joined Lestrade while Sherlock flitted over to the body, magnifying glass in hand, looking more like a hyperactive puppy than a detective on a case. A quick scan of the other workers revealed no familiar faces, something John was grateful for. It would be nice not having to put up with Donovan and her caustic remarks.

He and Lestrade stood together in a comfortable silence and watched Sherlock as he worked. After a brief moment, Sherlock finished his examination and was bounding over to Lestrade.

"Have you found the boyfriend yet?"

"He's been taken into custody."

"I want to speak to him."

"I don't know if that's-"

"Let me speak to him." Lestrade folded his arms across his chest, and John watched as the DI and the consulting detective found themselves an old fashioned staring contest. John knew it would be Lestrade who caved first, as did Sherlock and Lestrade. It was less than a minute before he sighed and shrugged.

"Whatever, go ahead." Sherlock gave a curt nod, then turned and began walking. John sent Lestrade an apologetic glance before turning and following after his husband. The cab ride was quiet, neither man feeling the need to fill the silence with idle chit chat. Sherlock was in full on case-mode, and John was happy to sit back and enjoy the ride. He kept quiet and didn't tell Sherlock how beautiful he looked with the sunlight shining on his face and in his hair. He didn't reach over and grab his hand like he wanted to, because he saw the way Sherlock's fingers were tapping on his thigh and knew he was too busy thinking to be romantic.

When the cab came to a stop Sherlock got out and John paid the cabbie. They walked side by side through the familiar hallways until they reached the interrogation room Lestrade had instructed them to find. There were several officers and another DI in the room with Rodney, and upon seeing Sherlock enter the room all but one left. It only took an icy look from Sherlock to get him to leave as well. Rodney glared at Sherlock before settling his gaze on John, who took a self-conscious step back and towards Sherlock.

"Hello, Mr. Douglas." John heard how clipped Sherlock's voice sounded, and wondered if it was because Sherlock was feeling threatened by the attention Rodney was paying his husband. He smiled and went to lean against a nearby wall, leaving Sherlock to do the interrogating.

Thirty minutes later John was remembering why Sherlock usually didn't question suspects. He was callous and bossy, and so malicious Rodney was on the brink of tears by the time he broke down and confessed to every murder.

He blamed everything on some camp he'd been sent to several years ago. He claimed it was a 'gay-to-straight' camp where men and boys are supposed to be 'cured' of their homosexuality. Rodney, having grown up with homophobic parents, had been sent to several camps over the course of his lifetime, but none had worked. As a result, he claimed, every time he was with a man he felt guilty, worthless, like a failure because he couldn't make himself attracted to women. After every encounter with a man Rodney was overcome with anger and killed them to 'erase' his mistake, then returned to his girlfriend's house for more self-loathing. Sherlock had turned and given John a look when Rodney admitted that his girlfriend was in fact a beard, and John had rolled his eyes.

"Rosie didn't know. She never did." Rodney sighed and shook his head. "I tried to make it work with her, but I couldn't. I did like her though. She was nice and pretty, but I-"

"If she was so nice and pretty," Sherlock interjected, "Why did you kill her?"

"It was after you guys showed up. I was tense and angry, and she could sense it. She offered to ... to make me feel better and I refused. We got to arguing somehow and next thing I know she's lying on the ground and my hands are still wrapped around her neck. I just ... that camp messed me up."

"Oh, spare me your sob story," Sherlock barked, turning away from Rodney. John noticed the stiff manner in which Sherlock was walking, and the way his fists were clenched, but he kept his mouth shut, and gave Sherlock the space he obviously needed. Rodney sighed and covered his face with his hands, breathing heavily. The room was eerily quiet for several moments, with no one daring to break the silence with sound or movement. John noticed the glazed over look in Sherlock's eyes, and reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

Sherlock jerked away from him, then his eyes cleared and he stared at John apologetically. John just stared back, a million questions forming in his mind. Sherlock avoided eye contact with him and called for some officers to take Rodney away. He turned and left the room the moment the officers entered, and John had to jog to catch up with him.

"Alright, Sherlock?"

"Hm? Yes, I'm fine." John eyed him warily for a moment, but before he could ask another question Lestrade and company showed up to interrogate them about the interrogation.

"He confessed to everything, as I expected him to." Lestrade seemed ready to ask further, but he saw something in Sherlock's expression that made him stay quiet. John was becoming more worried by the minute. Sherlock turned and began walking away, and John dutifully followed him.

"What do you think of his 'sob story'?" John asked, trying to alleviate the sudden tension he felt with a sad attempt at humour. "A gay-to-straight camp. Those things don't really exist do they?"

"They do."

John nearly stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock's voice had sounded so ... small. He looked over at Sherlock and saw that his eyes were cast downward. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders were slumped.

"Sherlock, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Not anything I'd like to, no." Sherlock held the door open for John, then hailed them a cab. The ride back to Baker Street was incredibly tense and awkward, with Sherlock staring out the window and John staring at Sherlock. His entire body was turned away from the center of the car, and away from John. His hands were folded in his lap instead of resting on the seat between them, inviting one of John's hands to join it. His eyes were hard and his lips were tightly pressed together. Overall he looked very 'not okay', and John felt something in his stomach twisting.

When they finally reached their flat, John paid the cabbie while Sherlock went to wait at the door. John shot him a worried look before unlocking the door and walking inside. He went about making them both tea while Sherlock disrobed and changed into his pyjamas. When the tea was ready and Sherlock still had not emerged from the bedroom, John went in after him.

Sherlock was lying on the bed, palms pressed together, staring at the ceiling. John stared at him for a moment, wondering if Sherlock was even aware of his presence. It wasn't unheard of for Sherlock to go catatonic every now and then, but Sherlock had acted rather strangely leading up to this, and that was what worried John. He hesitated in the doorway, and just as he was turning to leave, Sherlock spoke.

"I was sent to one." John didn't have to ask for clarification. He knew immediately what Sherlock was referring to. He sat down at the edge of the bed placing his hands in his lap. He waited for Sherlock to continue, but he remained silent.

"Your parents don't seem-"

"They didn't send me." Sherlock sat up and fixated his eyes on John. John found himself unable to look away from the stricken look on Sherlock's face.

"Who did?"

"My aunt Alice." Sherlock pulled his legs against his chest and rested his chin on his knees. "You see, she's very ... well for lack of a better word, homophobic." Sherlock sucked in a breath, and John moved closer to him on the bed. Sherlock held a hand out, and John laced their fingers together. Sherlock stared down at their hands as he spoke. "One Christmas she came to visit us. It was a special event, because she was living in America at the time, and we didn't get to see her very often. I adored her, you see. I was so excited, I composed a song to play for her on the violin. I baked her a cake, and I spent nearly every waking minute with her. I showed her my collection of dress shirts and the new dance I'd been working on. She had smiled then and was pleasant and everything was great, but apparently my behaviour had raised some red flags." John moved close enough to Sherlock to draped an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. Their fingers remained intertwined and John gave Sherlock's hand a quick squeeze. Sherlock sighed before continuing.

"The next summer she requested that I come to stay with her in America. My parents were fine with it and I willingly agreed. However, rather than spend two summers at her estate I was shipped to a special camp for," he held up air quotes, "'confused and misled boys'."

"Sherlock, that's terrible."

"It was the worst camp experience of my life, which is certainly saying something. I know Mycroft has told you about the time I nearly escaped from camp several years before this." John fought the urge to laugh at the memory; Now was not the time. "It was one of the worst summers of my life, preceding one of the worst years of my life. I was told that liking boys was wrong, but I didn't find girls appealing at all. I figured I was just 'wired wrong' and that I wasn't meant to like anyone. At the age of 14 I began to research different sexualities and decided that I was asexual. But at 16 I found that even that didn't fit because I still found males attractive. Cue a six month sexuality crisis that ended with me coming to the conclusion that I was just an anomaly in that department as well. I figured it didn't matter; I was already an outcast among my peers and the rest of society. What difference did it make if there was one more thing wrong with me?"

"Sherlock..."

"I'm over it now, obviously. I'm married to a man whom I love very much and I couldn't be happier." John smiled and held Sherlock tighter against himself, but soon found that there was a nagging question in the back of his mind that he had to ask.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?"

"If you're so over it and so happy with me, why wouldn't you tell me something like that? Why won't you open up to me?"

"John?" Sherlock pulled away to stare at him, eyes wide and searching. "What do you mean open up? You know me better than anyone."

"And I still feel like I know nothing. All I've got to go on is bits and pieces of your past that you throw my way." John had no idea where all of this was coming from, but now that it had been said he realized he did in fact know very little about Sherlock's past, and it upset him greatly. Sherlock continued to stare blankly at him, and John could hear him thinking.

"Why would you need to know everything about me?"

"Not everything, Sherlock. I understand some things are private and I respect that. I just ... I don't want to feel like I'm married to a stranger." Sherlock pulled further away from him.

"John what are you saying? Do you not want to be married anymore?"

"No! I do, I do ..." He sighed and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "You know, forget everything I said. Or, delete it. Just ..." John sighed and stood up. He turned around to look at Sherlock, who had one hand extended as if beckoning John to come back. He bent down and kissed Sherlock's forehead. "I think I'd like to go for a walk now."

"Would you like for me to come with you?"

"No." Sherlock deflated. "I mean ... " Sherlock frowned, then turned away from John and curled into a ball on his side. John groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face before leaving the room. He grabbed his keys and coat and left the flat. He was about fifteen minutes away from Baker Street when he realized he'd left his phone. He chose not to go back, and continued on with his walk.

What had happened back there? Sherlock had opened up to him on what was obviously a sensitive subject, and John had instigated an argument. He'd probably hurt Sherlock, who would be too proud to admit it or accept John's apology, and everything was probably going to turn to rubbish between them. All because John had acted like a complete and total arse.

John berated himself for another several blocks, then turned back and started walking home. It was getting pretty dark out, but John hadn't grabbed any money and therefore couldn't take a cab. He walked as briskly as he could until their flat was in sight. His heart was pounding from the exertion, but he was home and that was all that mattered. Well, that and whether or not Sherlock would forgive him.

He opened the door and tried to be as quiet as possible climbing the stairs. He was planning on adding a cup to his apology, and he wanted to surprise Sherlock with it. John knew that if Sherlock knew he was home there was no way he could surprise him with anything.

When he reached the top of the stairs he was surprised to find the door to the kitchen wide open. He could see Sherlock standing by the stove, facing away from him as he busied himself with some task John couldn't see.

"Welcome home, John," Sherlock said, still not facing him. "How was your walk?"

"Fine." John hesitated, then reached a hand out towards Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock-"

"Here." Sherlock said turning, shoving a mug into John's outstretched hand. He answered John's raised eyebrow with a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. He left John standing in the centre of the room and entered the sitting room. John followed Sherlock's movement with his eyes as he picked up his violin and nestled the instrument in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He turned partly away from where John was standing, only leaving half of his face visible to him. John had yet to move since Sherlock had given him the tea, and he stared down at the mug in his hand with a frown.

"My mother used to play the violin for me when I was younger." Sherlock's voice snapped John's attention away from the tea and he looked up with his eyebrows raised. Sherlock began fingering the instrument but didn't play it, and turned further away from John.

"She didn't play it often until ... " Sherlock took in a deep breath and his shoulders slumped slightly. "I lost a friend, and my mother's violin playing was the only thing that could console me. At the time I was content to just sit and listen, but years later I decided I would learn so I could play for myself whenever I needed." Sherlock moved the violin from his shoulder and turned to face John, his face blank. John finally gained enough sense of his faculties to step into the living room towards Sherlock, and he placed his mug on the table in the centre of the room.

He plucked the violin and bow from Sherlock's fingers and stepped so close to Sherlock he could feel every puff of air he breathed out. He reached up and tangled his fingers in the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down until their foreheads were touching. For a moment no one spoke, and John took the opportunity to arch his neck and place a soft kiss on Sherlock's waiting lips.

"Sherlock ..."

"I apologize, John. I didn't expect you to be so concerned with my life story."

"Well, of course I am, Sherlock. I want to know everything about you, but you don't have to-"

"I want you to know everything. I want to tell you everything. You deserve it." John raised a hand to place on Sherlock's chest, and smiled when he felt the rapid beating of his heart.

"I don't deserve you." Sherlock made an awkward sort of snorting sound, then wrapped his arms around John and buried his face in the side of his neck. John kept his arms around Sherlock and allowed himself to be hugged; Sherlock obviously needed it.

When Sherlock finally pulled away his face was once again stoic, but John could see the warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there when he'd first entered the flat. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of a doorbell ringing cut him off. Both heads turned towards the door, and John watched as Sherlock went to answer the door. He picked up his mug, full of tea that had now gone cold, and made to move into the kitchen to rinse it out. He heard two pairs of footsteps ascending the stairs, and had just made it back to the living room when Sherlock entered, looking sullen and petulant. John didn't have time to question the sudden change in disposition before another figure appeared in the room, and all his questions were answered.

"Oh," he said, trying to keep any animosity from his voice. "Hello Victor."


	11. Domestic Bliss

If there were ever any awards to be given for bad timing, John was sure Victor would receive the biggest trophy of them all. 

John was tense as he sat in his chair and stared at the man currently oblivious to evil looks being sent his way. Though Sherlock had originally seemed perturbed by Victor's surprise visit, that perturbation had only lasted a moment. Then again, he and Victor were in fact friends, and apparently rather good friends at one point in time, considering the fact that they'd lived together briefly. John had pretended not to hear when Victor had mentioned it, but inside he was seething.

It didn't help that Sherlock was acting uncharacteristically cordial around Victor. He had made fresh tea for everyone, serving Victor his cup, he had played the violin upon Victor's request, and was now chatting amicably with him on the sofa while John watched and tried not to feel jealous. He'd tried working on his blog, doing crossword puzzles, and even browsing the news in search of any interesting murders to distract either himself or Sherlock with. Nothing was working, and John was sure he would soon have a visible green aura of jealousy surrounding him if he didn't get out of this flat soon.

He stood from his seat and went to the bedroom to retrieve a jacket, then came back into the sitting room to grab his keys, phone, and wallet.

"John?" 

He glanced up to see Sherlock staring questioningly at him, a single eyebrow raised and the corners of his mouth turned downwards. "Where are you going?"

"I figured that since you two were, y'know, hanging out, I'd go out for a bit and give you some time together. Maybe see what Ollie's up to..." Sherlock bristled upon hearing Ollie's name leave John's lips, and John pretended not to notice. Instead he gave Sherlock a warm smile and crossed the room to where he was seated, pointedly ignoring Victor, who was sitting just on the other side of the sofa. Sherlock frowned up at him, but before he had a chance to speak John bent down and kissed him, slow and sweet and reassuring. 

He reached up and secured Sherlock's chin with his hand so he couldn't pull away, not that John expected him to. Sherlock kissed him back as eagerly as always, perhaps even more so. John smiled against his lips. Some part of him was glad that Victor was here to see this. John pulled back and continued to smile at Sherlock. He still looked uncertain, but John just kissed him again and stood up straight. He glanced over at Victor briefly before letting go of Sherlock's chin and leaving, calling out over his shoulder that he wouldn't be out for long. He dialed Ollie's number when he got outside, and he answered on the third ring.

"John! It's great to hear from you. What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just ... What are you up to?"

"I'm about to go out to the pub with Mike and Bill. I think Bill was supposed to be asking you if you wanted to join us."

"Well, I'd love to." John tried to sound pleasant, though he was wondering why Bill hadn't contacted him. Surely he wouldn't have forgotten about it. They were friends, good friends. If it weren't for Sherlock, John wouldn't hesitate to call them best friends. Especially since his return from Afghanistan. Bill had been his best man. That had to mean something, right?

"Alright, I'll text you the address."

"Ta." John hung up, and when he looked down at his phone he saw that he had three texts waiting to be opened. One was from Ollie, giving him the address. Another was from Bill, asking if he was free this afternoon. John smiled, glad to have not been forgotten. The third text was from Sherlock.

Victor said you look very nice today. I'm not sure how to process that information.

John chuckled and typed out a reply.

I'm sure you know what a compliment is.

Sherlock's reply came less than a minute later.

Of course I know what a compliment is. I just don't understand why Victor felt the need to tell me you're attractive. I'm very much aware of that already.

Another chuckle left John's lips as he turned a corner and the pub came into view.

I love you.

Likewise.

John placed his phone back into his pocket and walked across the street to meet his friends. When he entered the establishment he found Bill sitting alone at a table near the back. He had yet to see John, though his eyes were roaming the room, most likely in search of friends. John began making his way over to Bill, and received a raised glass in greeting when he was finally seen.

"John! Glad you could make it." John sat down beside him at the table, and their elbows knocked together. A bit of Bill's drink sloshed out of the mug, and john swore.

"Ah, shit. Sorry mate."

"It's alright." 

"Oy," John heard a familiar voice call out to them. "Isn't it a bit early in the night to be spilling drinks on yourself?" 

"Tell that to John here," Bill said, laughing as he used a napkin to swipe at the stain on his sleeve.

"I'm really sorry-"

"It's fine, John. In fact I should be thanking you. I hate this shirt actually. Karen bought it for me, and I'm too nice to say anything about it. Maybe I can play up the spill and finally get rid of it." He gave John a friendly smile and raised his mug. Ollie laughed as he stood to get himself and John drinks. When he returned the three of them launched into a discussion of recent news and sporting events. Each man offered anecdotes of their significant others, and they all laughed in good humour at the expense of those who weren't present to defend themselves. Overall it was a rather enjoyable time had by all. 

It was dark by the time John arrived at 221B Baker street, and he was surprised to find that the living room light was still on. He unlocked the front door and was greeted with the piquant scent of curry and the sound of laughter wafting down from upstairs. He climbed the stairs with great trepidation, fearful of what was awaiting him behind the door. He had never heard Sherlock laugh like that ... except when he was the cause of it. Normally the sound filled his heart with joy, but hearing it now made something in John's stomach twist. 

John slowly pushed the door open and took in the sight before him. Sherlock was facing away from the door, hands splayed out on the desk in the centre of the room as he bent over. His shoulders were shaking, and John could hear the deep rumbling of his laughter. Victor was stood behind him, and slightly to the side, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.

John closed the door quietly and stepped into the room. Neither man seemed to have noticed his arrival. The fact that Sherlock Watson-Holmes, the world's most observant man, failed to notice his husband's arrival was distressing. John wondered just what it was that had captured Sherlock's attention.

"Victor, this is fantastic," Sherlock said, straightening up. "I don't know how you-" Sherlock cut himself off mid-sentence when he turned to face Victor and saw John standing by the door. "Oh, hello John. Come look at this!" Sherlock waved him over, and John stepped forward to peer at the laptop sitting on the desk. On the screen was a picture of a young boy with curly red hair and glasses, smiling brightly and holding a shining trophy. It appeared to be a picture scanned from a newspaper. The picture was above an article about some science fair. It was the caption that caught John's attention, however.

Pictured above: Mycroft Holmes, age 13, with his trophy. 

Before John could stop himself a laugh escaped his lips and he took a step back.

"That's Mycroft?" John turned to Sherlock, who was smiling down at him with eyes full of laughter and mirth, and chuckled. "I didn't know he was capable of producing a genuine smile." Sherlock shrugged.

"I"m not so sure he's aware anymore, either." They laughed together, and after a moment Sherlock placed a hand at the small of John's back and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Welcome home. Did you have fun while you were out?"

"Oh, um, yeah," John answered lamely, caught off guard by the unexpected display of affection. Sherlock removed his hand and stepped away, smiling warmly at Victor.

"While I have greatly enjoyed your visit, it is getting late."

"Agreed," Victor replied, giving a slight bow. "This was fun, Sherlock. We must do it again some time. Perhaps I could dig up some more old photos of your dear brother." The smile Sherlock gave Victor was somehow malevolent and charming at the same time, and it made John's heart stutter. Then he realized, Sherlock was giving that smile to Victor and not him, and his smile faded. 

John remained in the sitting room while Sherlock showed Victor out, and collapsed into his chair. He took in a deep breath to steady himself and to quell the jealousy he felt rising up inside of him. He could detect a foreign scent in the air; Mixed in with the usual aroma of their flat was a light hint of expensive cologne, and not the cologne Sherlock wore.

Sherlock returned with a smile on his face and strode over to John, kneeling in front of him and placing his hands on John's thighs. 

"How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"Not very much, why?" Sherlock began gently caressing John's thighs. John felt the heat of Sherlock's hands through the fabric of his jeans, and felt his pulse quicken.

"I was just wondering if there was anything that could possibly interfere with what I have planned for us tonight." John leaned forward until his nose was brushing against Sherlock's. Thankfully, he only smelled Sherlock, and no one else. He closed his eyes and breathe in the familiar scent.

"And just what do you have planned, Mr. Watson-Holmes?" Sherlock pressed his lips hard against John's and one of his hands began drifting upwards until it was resting on John's hip. John kissed Sherlock back and buried a hand in his hair, giving a slight tug to bring Sherlock's mouth away from his. Before Sherlock could protest John dipped his head down and began nipping at the sin beneath Sherlock's jawline.

"John," Sherlock panted, throwing his head back to allow John better access to his neck. "Maybe now ... would be a ... good time to ... go to the bedroom." Sherlock struggled to talk with John raising his head to kiss him every few words. He pressed forward until Sherlock was spread out on the floor beneath him, and placed his knees on either side of Sherlock's waist, straddling him. 

"You want to stop now just to go to the bedroom?"

"God, no."

___________________________________________________________

John had originally believed that the domesticity of married life would eventually gnaw at him and Sherlock as time went on until they could no longer stand it, but he found it to be quite the opposite. Life with Sherlock as his husband was fantastic. They still solved crimes by day, and sometimes at night. When they went out to eat Sherlock always smiled when he said "We have a reservation for Watson-Holmes." On the nights they didn't go out they took turns cooking dinner. Well, John cooked the majority of the time, but every now and then Sherlock would step into the kitchen and offer assistance.

John had caught Sherlock admiring his wedding ring on more than one occasion when he thought John couldn't see, and each time it made something in his chest swell with love. He had never thought it possible to be more in love with Sherlock than he had been on his wedding day, but each and every day that went by proved contrary to his original beliefs. Every day he failed to believe that he could love Sherlock more than he does, and each day after that he is proven wrong.

They weren't an overly affectionate couple, at least not in public. They didn't often hold hands, and they never kissed at crime scenes. There had been one exception, after John had pointed out a crucial detail that everyone else had missed. (John could still see the flabbergasted looks on the faces of the Scotland Yard workers.) In private they cuddled on the sofa and in bed, and overall John found himself to be extremely content. He had never felt this way about anyone. He only wished he knew how to properly articulate how much he loved Sherlock.

With the arrival of their one-year anniversary came the worry that John wouldn't be able to give Sherlock a gift that fully expressed how much he loved him and how grateful he was to be married to such an amazing man. He'd spent months searching for the perfect gift before deciding that Sherlock would appreciate something practical over something romantic. Still, he wanted to add some sort of something to the gift, so he ended up getting an engraving on the microscope he bought Sherlock. It read: Property of Sherlock Watson-Holmes. It was a small touch, but it was a reminder that they were in fact married, something John hoped Sherlock would appreciate.

John stared down at the microscope in his hands. It was the night before their anniversary, and Sherlock was out doing God-knows what, so John took the opportunity to get one last look at Sherlock's present before he presented it to him. He gave the instrument a final once-over, then placed it back inside the black box and closed the lid. He took the red scarf he'd bought and tied it in a bow around the box. He smiled to himself, picturing what Sherlock's face would look like when he saw it. He placed the box back in its hiding spot and descended the stairs.

Sherlock was waiting for him on the landing. John was startled and almost slipped, but managed to maintain his balance and composure and smiled at Sherlock. He was still in his coat and scarf, which lead John to guess that he had just arrived home.

"Hello," he said. Sherlock didn't reply, just nodded and turned to go into the living room. John followed after him and stood awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen while Sherlock disrobed. He tossed his coat onto the couch and started working on taking off his scarf. "Tea?"

"No thank you. I think I'll just turn in for the night."

"Oh." John blinked, then stared at Sherlock. He was never the first to go to bed. "Alright." Sherlock removed his scarf, then threw it on top of his coat and made his way over to John. He bent down and kissed him, then moved past him to go to their bedroom. John stood dumbfounded in the kitchen, lips still puckered, mind whirring with a dozen questions. 

A moment later Sherlock emerged from the bedroom dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a housecoat. John caught himself staring at Sherlock's lean body before his eyes snapped up to his face. Sherlock was smirking at him. He felt like a teenager having been caught staring at his crush, not like a man who had simply been admiring his husband's physical assets. 

"Would you care to join me, John?" He held a hand out and wriggled his fingers, and John rolled his eyes before reaching out. He allowed himself to be lead to the bedroom and changed into something comfortable while Sherlock climbed beneath the covers. Once John joined him, he turned over and burrowed into John's side, snaking an arm around his waist and resting his head on John's shoulder. There was nothing unusual to this, but John still felt his heart skip a beat when Sherlock got so close. It was amazing that after all this time he was still so affected. He only hoped Sherlock felt the same. 

"Goodnight, Sherlock. See you tomorrow."

"Mmm, yes, tomorrow." Sherlock stretched his lips out and kissed John's neck, then his breathing slowed and John knew he was drifting off to sleep. John's own eyelids began to feel heavy, and it wasn't long before he joined Sherlock.

___________________________________________________________

Sorry about the short chapter guys, and the probably atrocious editing (and the terrible title. I'll probably change it once I think of a better one). I've got two big tests this week but hopefully after that most of my school stress will be gone and I can get back to producing better-quality work for you all. Thanks to everyone who's reading/voting/commenting! You guys are amazing. xx


	12. Happy (?) Anniversary

When John awoke the next morning Sherlock was nowhere to be found. He sat up in bed, stretched, and looked around with a frown. This wasn't exactly an ideal way to wake up on his one year anniversary with Sherlock, but he should have known better than to expect anything different. Sherlock often woke up before him, and it wasn't uncommon for him to be out of bed, showered, and dressed before John even opens his eyes. 

John swiped at his eyes as he stumbled out of the bedroom. Sherlock was standing in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. He greeted John with a smile and glided over to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Good morning."

"Ah, morning." John yawned and moved past Sherlock to begin making tea. He heard Sherlock clear his throat behind him, and turned around. It was then that he noticed his gift for Sherlock sitting on the table. "Oh, yeah, that's for you. I'm not even going to ask how you found it." John leaned against the counter and watched Sherlock remove the scarf. He studied it for a moment, running his hands over the fabric, then gingerly placed it on the table beside the box. John moved around to stand beside him as he removed the lid from the box and stared down at the microscope inside. 

Sherlock remained silent for a moment, and John suddenly feared that he had somehow messed up. Of course he should have done something more romantic on their one year anniversary. How could he have been so stupid?

"Thank you, John."

John turned to look up at Sherlock, mouth agape. Sherlock's eyes had softened and the corners had begun to crinkle. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly before he leaned down to give John a tender kiss on the cheek. 

Then, before John was able to register the movement, Sherlock was gone. He disappeared into their bedroom, leaving the microscope and scarf sitting on the table. John finished making tea, then carried his cup with him to the bedroom. Just as he stepped into the room he heard the shower turn on. He hadn't expected much from Sherlock, but he had been hoping for a nice lie in to start off their anniversary.

He sipped his tea and waited for Sherlock to finish getting ready. He emerged from the shower dressed in a silk button down and a pair of dark trousers. His hair was still damp, and the loosened curls hung loosely about his face. He set about pulling on socks and shoes. John admired the sight of him from his place on the bed for a moment, before he rembmered that Sherlock had yet to give him his gift. Or even say 'Happy Anniversary' for that matter. Then again, John hadn't said that either. Still, Sherlock had already opened his gift; It seemed appropriate that he would be the first to wish his husband a happy anniversary.

"Sherlock?" John called out, sitting his mug on the bedside table. Sherlock finished putting on his shoes before turning and staring at John with his eyebrows raised. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

Sherlock turned to face him fully, a smile on his face. He sauntered over to where John was sitting on the bed and leaned down until their noses bumped together.

"Of course, John." He pressed in and gave John a quick kiss before straightening up and pulling on his suit jacket. He reached over and grabbed a slip of paper from off the bedside table and handed it to John. "I need you to run some errands for me today. Text me when you're finished with them all."

With that Sherlock turned and left, leaving a bewildered John behind in Baker Street. Had he really forgotten about their one year anniversary? Was the date of their getting married not important enough to file away into his mind palace? John wasn't sure if he felt more disappointed or insulted, or just depressed. He stared down at the paper, a small part of him wondering if it were some sort of romantic letter. What he saw was a single address that John recognized as the address for St. Bart's hospital.

So that was how this day would go, then. John briefly considered returning the scarf and microscope, but he knew he could never do that. With a sigh he got up and went about getting ready for the day. 

The first stop on the list was the morgue. There were no instructions on the paper as to what he was supposed to do when he arrived at each location, but it was easy enough to guess that Molly would have something for him to pick up when he arrived there. 

Molly was waiting for him with a bright smile and a clear plastic bag. One precursory glance at its contents revealed not a body part or anything of the like, but rather what appeared to be a flyer. He narrowed his eyes at Molly, who continued to smile at him as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"What-"

"I'm not allowed to speak," she said quietly, still smiling. She had a nice smile, John decided, but it was starting to creep him out now. "You better get going."

"Hm?" John reached inside the bag and pulled out the flyer. It was advertising some traveling carnival that was currently in town. He turned it over to the back, where he found a note written in Sherlock's signature messy script.

Go to the front gate and give them your name.

John gave Molly a parting smile and left, more confused than he had been when he arrived. He hopped into a cab and gave him the address printed on the flyer, then sat back and stared out the window. Was this somehow Sherlock's gift to him? A trip to the circus. It was a bit juvenile, but he supposed he could appreciate the fact that Sherlock was at least making an effort to do something special for their anniversary. Perhaps he would be waiting for him just inside the giant tent with a smile and a bag of popcorn, and they could sit and watch the festivities while Sherlock provided a running commentary. Yeah, John thought, that would be nice.

When he arrived at the circus all those pleasant thoughts left his mind. The place was practically deserted, save for a few workers milling about. Unless Sherlock had somehow managed to reserve every seat, which was entirely probable, John figured they wouldn't be having a circus date. 

He approached a large man standing by the front gate and gave his name. The man looked him over once, then turned and disappeared inside, leaving John standing alone outside the gate. John stood there for a moment, kicking at the ground with his shoe and trying not to look deflated. Just as he was about to turn to go, the man reappeared holding a box labeled 'caution'. John took it wordlessly and nodded to the man before turning and walking away. He found a bench nearby and sat down. He retrieved his mobile from his pocket and dialed Sherlock's number. He answered after the first ring.

"John."

"What's in the box?" John didn't bother with the pleasantries. At the moment he was upset with both Sherlock and himself. Sherlock for forgetting about their anniversary and sending him on some errand run by himself, and he was angry with himself for actually going and doing it without question. He waited for Sherlock to answer.

"You mean you haven't opened it?"

"Didn't know I was supposed to." John struggled to get the box, having only the one hand to use, but eventually got it open and stared down at the arrangement of fireworks that it contained. "Fireworks? Why fireworks?"

"It was as close to explosives as I was willing to get."

"What? Explosives? Sherlock what are you-"

"Never mind that. I need you to pick something else up for me." John used his free hand to massage his temple and sighed. At this point he was just ready to get back to Baker Street, drown his sorrows in tea, and then hopefully sleep until the day was over. 

John remained silent and waited for Sherlock to give him his next task. He heard a voice on the other line, but it sounded far away and was hard to hear. One thing John could tell was that the voice did not belong to Sherlock. 

"Sherlock, who is that?"

"No one important. What I need you to do is head back to Westminster and go to a shop called Excitement."

"Isn't that a sex shop?" There was a pause on the other line before John heard Sherlock's voice again.

"Perhaps."

"What on Earth could you need from there?"

"I'm certain you are aware of the types of things sold in such places. I doubt you need me to spell it out. Just go the backroom and tell them you're picking up an order for Watson-Holmes. From there you should be able to figure out what comes next."

"If this is going where I think it's going..."

"Get your mind out of the gutter John." John could practically hear Sherlock's eye-roll. "We can always go back at a later date if you're ever interested. As for now ..."

"Right. Whatever. Is that all?"

"Most of it, yes. I'll see you when you're finished."

"Right." John was still debating whether or not to end the phone conversation with "love you' when Sherlock hung up. He figured he should have expected that. He pocketed his phone and picked up the box. He then realised he hadn't asked Sherlock what he was to do with the box. He figured their flat wasn't too far away from his next stop, and a little detour couldn't hurt. Sherlock had said he would see him when he was finished. Did that mean he was back at Baker Street waiting for him, and that they could at least go together to retrieve whatever it was that Sherlock needed? As angry as John was with his husband, he still missed him greatly and wanted to see him. Unfortunately, Sherlock was nowhere to be found when John stepped inside the flat. With a sigh he placed the box of fireworks on the kitchen table and turned to leave.

John managed to get in and out of the shop within five minutes. The overwhelming smell of latex was nauseating, as was the obscene displays around every corner. He couldn't believe places like this existed, or that people actually frequented them. He stared down at the leash in his hands, trying and failing to determine just what Sherlock had planned that could involve fireworks and a leash. He turned the leather strap over in his hands, and something shining caught his eye. A collar and a tag, it seemed. Odd, this didn't seem like a typical pet collar, aside from the obvious fact that it had not been purchased at a pet store. As far as John knew there were no animals in the flat, but it had been a while since he'd ventured up to Sherlock's study. It would be just like Sherlock to get a pet and not tell him about it, and then buy some fancy leash form a place called 'Excitement' for it. John only hoped Sherlock wasn't performing experiments on the animal. As soon as the thought crossed his mind John mentally kicked himself. Sherlock was not that type of person. 

Maybe the pet was for him? Was this Sherlock's anniversary present? A dog?

John examined the tag for a moment, taking note of the shape and engraving. There was an address on the golden bone. John figured that was his next stop. He hoped desperately that it would be his last. He was getting tired of all this running around.

The address belonged to a small pet shop several streets over. John recognized it as a place he had gone with Sherlock while working on a previous case involving a dog fighting organization. The business' previous owners were now sitting in jail where they belonged, and the store was being run by a friendly older woman named Marge.

The door chimed in greeting when John stepped inside. After a precursory glance around his surroundings John zeroed in on the young lady behind the counter. She smiled as he approached him.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Um, yes, I've got this leash here. The address on the tag lead me here."He handed the item over to the girl who couldn't have been more than twenty, and waited while she examined it. After several moments her eyes cleared and she beamed up at him.

"Oh! Would you happen to be Doctor Watson-Holmes?"

"I am." The young clerk handed him the leash back and retrieved a piece of paper from the pocket of the apron she was wearing. She held it out towards John with a smile.

"Here. The leash is supposed to go to this address." John plucked the paper from her fingers and looked at the address. John didn't recognize it, but he could see that is would be a twenty minute drive from the pet store. He gave the young woman a smile and left the store, almost barelling into someone walking by the door.

"Oh, so sorry," he said, holding out his hands to keep the woman upright. He lifted his eyes and found himself staring at a slightly familiar face. 

She had short brown hair and hazel eyes, and John could not figure out where he had ever seen this face before. 

"Oh, hello John!" she said cheerfully. John was still cycling through all previous girlfriends and other women he had encountered over the course of his lifetime that would greet him in such a way, and was still drawing a blank. He didn't want to be rude, but he had to ask who she was. Her anonymity was killing him.

"Um, sorry, have we met?" Her smile faltered for a moment before completely vanishing from her face.

"Oh, sorry. Of course we have, but I couldn't expect you to remember a woman you saw once a little over a year ago. At one point in time we had discussed my planning your wedding, but I could never get in contact with you after the initial meeting." John saw the flirtatious gleam in her eyes, and swallowed thickly. "Does that mean you two never went along with the wedding?"

"Ah, actually, we decided to plan it ourselves," Jon said, holding up his left hand and waggling his fingers, allowing the sunlight to dance on his ring. "More romantic, you know. We've been married for a year now. One year exactly. Today's our anniversary."

"So why are you out here by yourself instead of with your husband?"

"I'm just running a few errands, actually. We've got plans to meet up later, in fact. So, if you'll excuse me..." 

John caught sight of an approaching cab and almost launched himself at it. He apologized to the man who had been standing on the curb and closed the door, reading the address on the paper aloud to the cabbie. He sat back and watched London speed by his window for a moment, trying to calm himself down from that horrible encounter. Several years ago he would have thrown himself at the opportunity to take that wedding planner out, but he was a married man now. He was married to Sherlock Holmes, and couldn't possibly imagine himself with anyone else. It was almost laughable, how badly he had reacted to her flirting. He had been like a nervous teenager approached by the prom queen in the hallway. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Sherlock a quick text.

Do I get any explanation as to why I'm currently heading to some strange location with a leash in my hands?

The response came almost immediately, as if Sherlock had already had his phone in his hands when he had received the text.

Soon.

John busied himself with playing games on his phone for the rest of the cab ride. When the vehicle came to a stop, he stared up out the window, and his jaw dropped. 

He paid the cabbie and climbed out of the cab on numb legs. He stared up at the palatial estate before him. Towering gates, stately columns, and meticulously planned landscaping was all John could see. It took him several moments to notice the man standing just behind the gates, smart in his sleek, black uniform and cap. 

"Hello Sir," he greeted John in an overly-posh sounding accent. "I presume you are Doctor Watson-Holmes?"

"Uh, yeah." John answered lamely, still attempting to wrap his mind around where he was and how he had gotten here. "I ..."

"Mister Watson-Holmes is just inside. Allow me to show you to him."

"Uh, right. Thanks." 

The man stepped to the side and entered some code on a keypad, and John stood back as the enormous gates swung open and he was allowed entrance. He followed after the man he assumed to be a butler of sorts, inside the mansion. He was once again blown away at the polished marble floors and tapestries hanging from the tall ceiling. Until now John had never known such places like this even existed. This was a home fit for royalty. 

Was there going to be any royalty here? Had Sherlock somehow gotten them entrance to the home of a duke or duchess? Perhaps he had arranged for them to have tea like the royals do. All the microscopes and scarves in the world couldn't beat such a gift.

After turning several corners they came to a stop. John glanced up at the door they were standing before. He could hear the faint sounds of a violin playing coming from the room, and he knew Sherlock was inside. He had heard that same song many times before. Out of Sherlock's extensive repertoire, It was a personal favourite of John's. He smiled, his heart thudding in his chest as his mind began to spin wild fantasies of what might be behind the door.

The man at his side simply bowed to John before turning and leaving. John raised his hand to open the door, and hesitated when he heard the violin stop. Just as he began to push the door open, the violin playing began again, joined by a piano. 

The door swung open, revealing the sight of Sherlock standing in the centre of a ballroom, violin on his shoulder, eyes closed as he swayed to the rhythm of the music he was coaxing from the instrument. John found himself captivated by the image before him, his eyes only able to focus on his gorgeous husband.

His eyes finally drifted away from Sherlock's swaying form and landed on the piano beside him. When he saw who was sitting at the piano he felt his face flush and his heart hammered heavy in his chest.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, trying not to sound as irritated as he was. Both Sherlock and Victor stopped playing and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, John! You've finally made it, I see." Sherlock put the violin down on the table and ambled over to John, a bright smile on his face. "How was your day?"

John was practically seething now. How could Sherlock act so incredibly nonchalant when he had ignored his own husband on their one year anniversary in favour of spending time with some old university friend that may or may not have a thing for him. Sherlock was far from unobservant. He had to see the way Victor looked at him, the way his eyes lit up when they landed on Sherlock's face. The way he was looking at him now, as if they were the only two in the room. It was sickening, and John felt his hands clenching at his sides. 

"How was my day?" Sherlock immediately stopped walking and the smile fell from his face, replaced with a look of surprise and panic. John couldn't even bring himself to feel sorry for being the cause of it. He was too angry with Sherlock. 

"First, you fail to even say happy anniversary to me this morning. Then you send me all over bloody London running errands for you while you've scampered off to parts unknown. Only now they're not unknown. You've been here cavorting with Victor all day haven't you?"

"Cavorting is hardly the right word-"

"Sherlock! Its our anniversary. Now I know you don't place as much significance on certain aspects of a relationship like I do but I thought you would have at least had the decency not to run off and leave me alone for the entire day. It would never have imagined that you'd spend the day with him," John pointed an angry finger in Victor's general direction. "Instead of your own husband!" Sherlock pursed his lips and remained silent for a moment. John could practically hear the gears turning in his head, could almost smell the smoke billowing from his ears as he processed John's tirade. Finally he turned to Victor and spoke in a calm, quiet voice.

"Would you give us a moment, please." Silently Victor stood and left the room. "John, I believe I owe you an explanation."

"Damn right you do." A look of annoyance flashed over Sherlock's face, but John didn't care. He was far past annoyed and Sherlock didn't seem to care about his distress one bit. Sherlock was cool and completely unruffled as he stepped forward to place a hand on John's shoulder. 

"Look, I'll admit that this is a widely overused phrase and usually means the exact opposite when spoken, but that is not true in this case. John, it's not what it looks like."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"I know it is our anniversary. I have been aware of that all day. All of this ... " He waved his arm around in the air. "Is your gift."

"My gift?" John took a look around at the room, finally noticing all of the equipment set up around where the piano was. He saw a microphone suspended above where Sherlock had been standing, and another directly beside the piano. "What's this?"

"I know how fond you are of my violin playing. It's no secret to anyone. And I do love playing for you, John. But I know I can't always be at your disposal to play. That's why my gift to you was going to be ... a CD. Of me playing. So that if there ever comes a time that you long for the beautiful melodies that only I can produce on my violin, they will be right there even if I am not. Victor was kind enough to let me use his home and recording equipment to create the CD."

"But why today? Why not record it at some earlier time so we could have actually spent the day together?" Sherlock dropped his chin down and gave John a look he hadn't received since secondary school when he misbehaved in class.

"John, since the day we met we've been joined at the hip. Getting time away from you is harder than it might seem. Getting time away from you without you knowing where I've gone or what I'm up do is even harder. I figured a scavenger hunt of sorts that was based on our relationship was a nice, if excessively sentimental way to keep you busy while Victor and I worked."

"Scavenger hunt?"

"The circus, the fireworks, the dog collar ... " John stared blankly at Sherlock, who sighed and shook his head. "It began at St. Bart's in the morgue. That's where we first met. The circus is supposed to be a 'throwback' of sorts to that banker case of ours. We went to the circus. Sarah was there too but obviously she doesn't matter anymore. Then the fireworks ... I wasn't willing to get explosives. I thought you'd understand the reference to our little excursion at the pool."

John instantly felt his breath hitch in his throat. He was immediately taken back to that darkened swimming pool, with explosives strapped to his chest and that madman Moriarty standing behind him. John took a moment to calm himself and remind himself that they had come out of it unharmed, and that Moriarty was now sitting behind bars like he should be, unable to send any more snipers their way. Sherlock seemed to be waiting for a sign from John to continue. He nodded his head, and Sherlock gave his shoulder a squeeze. 

"For me that was the moment I realised just how important you had become to me, and that I would rather die than live without you. Of course, then I had only thought of you in a platonic manner, but all of that remains true today. Perhaps even more so." John could only stare up at Sherlock in awe of what he'd just heard. Sherlock paused for a moment, his grip on John's shoulder tightening for a moment. "The leash and collar served as a reminder to two adventures of ours. Do you know which ones or do I have to spell that out to you as well?"

"Um ... the dog collar ... the hound? In Baskerville?"

"Correct. And the leash, more specifically the store from which you purchased it, is to represent the Woman, Miss Adler. Don't be jealous John. It was supposed to remind you that I will always choose you. That you always come first, no matter who tries to come between us."

"Wow, Sherlock. That's ..." John sighed and ran a hand over his face. Of course Sherlock hadn't forgotten about their anniversary. Of course Sherlock's gift would be something overly romantic and thoughtful and perfect. Of course he found a way to screw it all up. "I'm sorry."

"Hmm." 

Sherlock turned away and went to retrieve his violin. John watched him place the instrument back inside its case and move over to a large black box with dials and switches. After several minutes Sherlock pulled a round, shining object out of it and turned back towards John. He walked past him out of the room, and all John could do was trail after him. 

They passed Victor on their way out. He waved goodbye as they went. .The cab ride was silent, and by the time they reached 221B Baker Street John was ready to fall through the Earth to get away from how uneasy he was feeling. 

Sherlock had pulled his mobile out of his pocket the moment he exited the cab, and John unlocked the door while he talked. He was only able to hear bits and pieces of the conversation with Sherlock turned away from him as he spoke.

"What was that?" he tried asking when they'd ascended the stairs into their flat.

"I was cancelling our dinner reservations at the Ritz. I don't imagine that after today's events a dinner out together would be very enjoyable for either of us." Sherlock finished removing his coat and scarf, then turned and thrust the CD out towards John. "Here." John took the object, recognising it as the CD Sherlock had grabbed at Victor's. He looked up at Sherlock who was staring at him with an inscrutible look in his eyes, his mouth set in a firm line. He dropped his gaze and sucked in a breath. "Happy anniversary."

John watched Sherlock's retreating form until it disappeared behind the closed bedroom door, and sighed. With a heavy heart he made his way over to the sofa and, after several moments of self loathing, curled up on his side facing inwards, and shut his eyes.


	13. Walking on Eggshells

John awoke to the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He pried his eyes open and squinted against the harsh morning light permeating the flat through the windows of the sitting room. After several moments he noticed a figure looming over him, tall and lean and very much Sherlock. He was standing in front of the sofa, staring down at John as he fought his way to awareness. 

"I'm going out." John stared up at Sherlock for a moment before his words finally registered in his mind and he nodded. 

"Alright then. Is-"

Before John could finish his question, Sherlock had turned and was already halfway towards the door. John stared after his retreating form and watched him descend the stairs. When he heard the front door close, a bit louder than usual, he sat up and groaned when the muscles in his back twinged in protest of the movement. He didn't see how Sherlock could spend so much time lounging on this sofa and not have severe back problems. Then again, John was sure his muscles were more tense than usual, and sleeping on the sofa couldn't have helped that very much. He rolled his head around on his shoulders for a bit and tried to stretch out any discomfort.

So, he was certainly in the dog house. That much had been made very clear. Rather than sit still and dwell on how badly he might have messed up his marriage and drive himself mad, John opted to busy himself with making breakfast. He tried to focus all of his mind's energy on the task of making tea and toast, but thoughts of Sherlock and the look he had on his face the previous night kept worming their way into his brain. 

He stared down at his reflection in the tea and sighed. He had to apologise. He knew that. Only, how could he do that if Sherlock wouldn't even give him the time of day. John had seen Sherlock give others the cold shoulder, and had felt the secondhand chill that came with witnessing it. Now he was experiencing the brute force of it all aimed at him, and he couldn't stand it. The thought of having upset Sherlock so much was almost too much to bear.

John switched his attention back and forth between the television and his laptop for several hours, trying to convince himself that he was okay with Sherlock being gone. He tried to tell himself that he didn't physically feel his absence from the room, or from the flat. He did so in vain. He missed Sherlock so much it hurt. Every inch of him ached with the sense of longing for his husband to return to him. 

It was dark when John heard the front door open. He was half-asleep and reclining in his chair, watching some soap opera with terrible actors in a terrible plot line. He had been amusing himself with wondering what Sherlock would have to say about such a show. Although it had provided a source of entertainment, it also constantly reminded John of Sherlock's absence.

John fought the urge to jump out of his seat and run to Sherlock when he heard him ascending the stairs. He instead turned his head to face the door and tried to keep a neutral expression on his face while he waited for his husband to appear. 

Sherlock stepped through the door and his eyes immediately went to John's. He held his gaze for a brief moment before turning away and removing his coat. 

"Did you have a nice time out?" John asked, only a bit hesitantly. He desperately wanted to hear Sherlock's voice, and he hoped his question would be welcome and would warrant a response.

"Hmm." Sherlock finished removing his scarf and threw it onto his armchair, then turned and went into the bedroom. John waited for a moment, and when it became clear that Sherlock wasn't coming back out he stood from his seat and walked to the closed door. He raised a hand to knock, but Sherlock spoke before he could.

"Just come in."

John paused by the door. Sherlock's voice had sounded so... exasperated. As if he felt talking to his own husband was a chore. It made John's heart sink to his stomach, but he bit back any nervousness and turned the door handle. 

Sherlock was laying on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He had changed out of his suit into a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt, but he still looked as gorgeous as ever.

"I erm, wanted to talk."

"Oh really? Because I thought you just wanted to come in here to gawk at me."

Sarcasm. Lovely. That meant Sherlock was still very much upset. John swallowed thickly and gestured to the bed.

"May I sit down?"

"I don't care." John walked over and sat down at the foot of the bed. Sherlock sat up and pulled his knees up to his chest. He rested his chin on top of his knees and stared at John, his face completely blank. John wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. They sat staring at each other for what felt like eons, until John gathered enough courage to break the awkward silence.

"So ..." Sherlock sucked in a breath, and John paused. He tried to meet Sherlock's eyes but the detective turned away to lay on his side, facing away from John. John let his chin fall to meet his chest. Now wasn't a good time to talk, apparently. He had a feeling that he wouldn't get anywhere with Sherlock acting like this. He figured he just had to wait until Sherlock was ready to talk about whatever it was that had happened between them, and try not to get too depressed in the time it takes for that to happen. 

"Right," he said. "I'll just ... go then."

"No, wait." Sherlock turned over and reached a hand out towards John. John was so surprised that Sherlock asked him to stay he didn't respond for a moment. Sherlock's hand remained outstretched for several moments, but when John didn't move he began to draw back in, his facial expression going from imploring to chagrined. John immediately reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. 

"I'll stay. I'll stay." Sherlock laced their fingers together and sat up, turning to face John. He stared down at their hands and shrugged.

"Yesterday was ... a bit not good." John remained silent for fear of spooking Sherlock and ruining what might be their reconciliation. "I'm understand I might have been overly cryptic, but-"

"I overreacted." John blurted against his better judgment. Sherlock glanced up at him through his eyelashes, and remained silent. John took a deep breath and glanced down before meeting Sherlock's eyes again. "Sherlock, let me just say that I'm glad that you've found someone you connect so well with. You and Victor ... I can see why you two are friends, and I'm so pleased that you have a friend like him. And ..." John took in a deep breath and tried to school his face into an expression of impassivity. "I have no problems with you spending time with him. I just ... didn't imagine you would choose to spend time with him on our anniversary, is all."

"John, I think we both know this isn't about our anniversary." The surety with which Sherlock spoke flummoxed John. What else could this possibly be about if not their ruined anniversary?

"It isn't?" Sherlock shook his head, and sighed.

"This is about Victor." John pulled away slightly, but still held on to Sherlock's hand. Their hand holding felt like the only thing keeping them connected at this point, and John didn't want to lose that when he caught sight of the path they would be going down.

"How is this about him?"

"You're jealous of him."

"Wha- jealous?" John didn't want to think about how Sherlock had figured that out. Sherlock was the most observant man in the world, of course he would figure out that his husband was jealous of his old university friend. How could he have been so stupid to think he could keep something like that hidden? "I-"

"Oh please John, are you really so surprised I know? I mean, you couldn't have been more obvious." Sherlock's brow was furrowed now and his hold on John's hand had slackened. "I didn't say anything at first because from what I know jealousy often leads to pretty fantastic shagging. However, all I've gotten out of it is an angry husband and a ruined anniversary."

"Sherlock you don't understand-"

"No, I understand perfectly. What you need to understand is that you've got nothing to worry about, John. I love you. If I wanted Victor I could have had him ages ago."

Of course. Sherlock was aware of Victor's feelings for him. Apparently he has been since university, and never thought to break off the friendship. John was sure Sherlock meant that to be a comforting statement, but it didn't do anything but comfort John.

"Somehow, hearing that doesn't make me feel any better."

"Then what will?!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, releasing John's hand to throw his arms in the air. John gaped at Sherlock, taken aback by this outburst. Sherlock calmed down after a moment, and took in a deep breath to relax himself. He stared down at the bed for several long moments before lifting his eyes to meet John's. 'I just want you to trust me."

"I do trust you, Sherlock. I trust you with my life."

"But what about your heart?"

John stared at Sherlock, unable to believe what he had just heard come out of his mouth. He wanted to say of course he trusted Sherlock with everything. He wanted to say it was Victor he didn't trust, and that he knew Sherlock would never betray him, but his lips failed to form the words he so desperately needed to say. He stared blankly at Sherlock, whose face twisted into a grimace before relaxing again. His eyes were now completely blank. 

"Perhaps you should go now."

Before John could answer, Sherlock turned away and curled up on his side, his back facing John. He stared at Sherlock's back and tried to think of something to say to convince Sherlock to let him stay, but he knew there was nothing he could do then to repair the damage he had done. With a sigh he lifted himself from the mattress and left the room, subjecting himself to another night on the couch.

When he awoke the next morning Sherlock was sitting in in his armchair, watching him. Not fully awake yet, John yawned and scrubbed at his eyes while he sat up. He ignored the pain in his back and shoulder and blinked at Sherlock. 

"Lestrade's called. He needs help on a series of murders that have transpired over the past week." John stretched again and averted his eyes when he responded.

"Alright then. I suppose you'll ... be back later?" John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and stood from his chair, adjusting his cuffs while he spoke.

"Well, if you're not coming with me then-"

"Do you want me to come?" John stood up as quickly as he could, and wobbled a bit. Sherlock stepped forward quickly and placed a hand on his arm, steadying him. Once John had fully regained his balance Sherlock dropped his hand and straightened the already-straight collar of his shirt. 

"You usually come with me now, don't you?"

"Yes, but I figured-"

"John." He met Sherlock's eyes, and felt his throat closing. His gaze was intense, a warning. In his eyes read a simple message: Not now.

John dropped his head and nodded, padding away to the bedroom to find a change of clothes. He managed to locate a flannel in the bathroom and had a quick wash up, then brushed his teeth, changed, and met Sherlock in the kitchen. He tried not to focus on how Sherlock was pointedly avoiding eye contact with him and instead turned to go down the stairs and out the flat. Sherlock trailed behind him, wordlessly, and remained silent in the cab. By the time the cab reached the crime scene John was already questioning his decision to come along. Work or not, it was obvious that spending any extended amount of time with Sherlock without having resolved whatever had happened between them would be unpleasant. He just hoped they could manage to put up a happy front in front of the Scotland Yard workers. The last thing either of them needed was jeering from Anderson or Donovan.

Sherlock opened the door and climbed out of the cab while John paid the cabbie. They approached the crime scene walking side by side; John wondered if this was Sherlock's way of telling him that everything was okay between them. Then he remembered the way Sherlock had looked that morning, and the night before, and he knew they weren't okay. The look that had been on Sherlock's face was burned into John's memory, causing him more and more pain with each passing moment and disintegrating all other thoughts in its fiery blaze.

John was suddenly glad for the fact that Sherlock was never very romantic when working. This way he could pretend that Sherlock wasn't holding his hand because they were at a crime scene and not because he had made a colossal arse of himself the night before and had ruined their anniversary the night before that.

Lestrade was waiting for them just beyond the police tape. His eyes flickered back and forth between Sherlock and John for a moment, then he began the debriefing. 

"This is the fourth in six days. Poisoned, from the looks of it but we won't know for sure until we can get an official autopsy."

Sherlock didn't respond, and set about examining the corpse lying face down on the ground. John stood by and watched, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face as to not tip anyone off to the distress he was feeling. 

"John, over here." 

John's feet were moving before he realized it, and soon found himself crouched beside Sherlock, staring down at the body.

"Yes?"

"What do you think?"

"Well Lestrade said-"

"I didn't ask for what Lestrade thinks. I asked what you think."

"Well I think Lestrade has a better idea of what's happening than I do. Why don't we just trust his opinion?"

"Guys, guys," Lestrade said, waving his hands in the air. "I know you two aren't exactly spring chickens, but don't you think it's a bit early for you to be fighting like an old married couple?" Both John and Sherlock turned to Lestrade, nearly breaking their necks in the process. Sherlock was glaring daggers at the Detective Inspector, but John was simply staring. 

Was it that obvious that they were fighting? John had been hoping to keep their row under wraps, and he figured Sherlock would want the same thing. They were private people, they didn't like having their affairs to be general knowledge. Apparently keeping their problems a secret was harder than John had originally thought it to be.

John then noticed the smile on Lestrade's face. Though it had begun to falter after their dramatic reaction, there had certainly been a smile there. Lestrade had simply been joking, and they had both overreacted, most likely placing some sort of idea into the minds of everyone around them that there really was something going on. Great.

"Very funny," he managed to say with a smile. He glanced at Sherlock, who was staring down at the ground, and nudged him in the side with his elbow. "Come on, let's get back to work." Sherlock nodded his head and went back to examining the body. There was a beat of silence before John heard Sherlock mumble something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said, funny how you're so trusting of him." 

John felt his heart stop. Never before had he heard Sherlock's voice sound so cross, at least not directed towards him. He stared open-mouthed at Sherlock for several seconds before he realized he was gaping and turned away. He pretended to examine the body, but all he could think about was how upset Sherlock sounded. 

"I trust his professional opinion. Sherlock, this has nothing to do with-"

"John, now is not the time for any sort of-"

"Don't you give me that. You started it!"

"Um, guys?" John froze at the sound of Lestrade's voice behind him. He hadn't realized just how loud he had been talking. The lightheaded feeling he felt and his laboured breathing indicated that he must have been yelling at Sherlock. Perfect. Now everyone definitely knew they were having a row. 

John avoided eye contact with Sherlock and stood, turning slowly to face Lestrade. Sherlock stood behind him, completely silent. John lifted his eyes just in time to see Sergeant Donovan saunter over with Anderson trailing close behind, identical smirks plastered across their faces.

"What's the matter boys? Didn't you just have an anniversary? Shouldn't you two be still all happy and sex-sated?" Anderson nudged her in the side with his elbow and sent her a sly grin. 

"Sounds like trouble in paradise." John opened his mouth and managed to bark out an angry "Piss off!" the same time Sherlock began speaking.

"Oh you want to talk about relationships? Fine, let's talk about yours. Tell me Phillip, how much of your money did your wife take in the divorce?"

Under normal circumstances John would have attempted some sort of reprimanding. However, he didn't think now was the time for that, especially not when Sherlock was defending their currently shaky relationship. He remained silent and allowed himself to appreciate the looks of shock and awe on the faces surrounding him, before turning to Sherlock and forcing himself to look into his eyes.

"We can discuss this later. Right now, there's a crime to solve." Sherlock held his gaze for several beats, and John watched slowly as the anger and tension drained from his face. Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh and nodded his head.

"Right. Of course." 

No more words were spoken while Sherlock turned back to the body. but the silence spoke volumes. Normally, there would be the usual chatter of those not actively working but still required to be on site. Sometimes playful banter could be heard between various Scotland Yard workers, but now everyone was completely silent. Everyone at the crime scene had seen Sherlock lash out at Anderson. It would take a fool not to realise that his comment had struck a nerve with Sherlock, and that something was obviously going on between them. John felt as if he and Sherlock were animals on display, out in the open for everyone to dissect their interactions and holding their breath to hear any comments that might be muttered from one to the other. It was tortuous.

After several moments Sherlock stood up abruptly and began looking around at everyone with his eyes narrowed.

"Alright, this is absurd. I can hear all of you thinking and I'm not going to pretend I don't notice all of you staring at us. Yes, everything is not one hundred percent alright between me and John but I really doubt being observed like some bloody science experiments will help. You guys can solve this without me."

Before John was able to completely register what was happening, he felt a hand firmly grasp his and begin to pull. He walked along after Sherlock, struggling to keep up with the fast pace of his long legs, and fought the urge to look over his shoulder as they left.


	14. The Turnaround

Sherlock was holding his hand. Sure, he was probably only doing so to ensure that they made a dramatic exit together and John didn't ruin his little monologue by standing around like a buffoon while Sherlock sped away, but there was still contact. Oh, how John had missed the simple feeling of Sherlock's hand in his. The feeling of warm skin against his palm was heavenly after being denied the simple sensation for so long.

Against his better judgment, John allowed himself to squeeze Sherlock's hand while they stood on the pavement waiting for a cab to pass by. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then released John's hand to flag down a passing cab. John's hand instantly felt cold, once again finding itself without the added warmth of Sherlock's own palm and desperately craving the heat it brought.

Sherlock didn't take his hand again when they got inside the cab. He stared out the window, but he didn't turn his body completely away from John, which he decided to take as a relatively good sign.

When they arrived at Baker Street Sherlock unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing John to go first. He silently passed by Sherlock and went up the stairs. He watched as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, wondering if he was expected to speak first.

"Sherlock-"

"It was foolish of me to think we could resume working without addressing the current state of our relationship. Forgive me for putting you through that."

"Sherlock, it was me who started yelling. Please, forgive me-"

"I should not have made that comment to you-"

"I shouldn't have acted so horribly yesterday."

"No, you shouldn't have." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "but we're not going to get anywhere through self-deprecation alone. So.." Sherlock planted himself on the sofa and gestured to the empty cushion beside him. John cautiously made his way over to sit beside Sherlock. He turned towards him and their knees knocked together. Neither man shed away from the contact; John figured that had to be a good sign.

"John, I admit I should have been more attentive to you on our anniversary, but you must understand that for your gift to have worked out properly some amount of secrecy was required.

"Properly? So you mean everything went according to plan, then?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes and turned away from John, who immediately apologised for his rude comment. "Sorry, sorry. I just... I think you could have gone about executing your brilliant plan a bit better." Sherlock in response turned further away from John, so far that their knees were no longer touching. The loss of contact brought a chill that spread throughout Johns body before settling once again at his knee. He sighed and forced himself to continue talking, to continue to try and fix this conflict between them.

"Look, I know I messed up, and I'm sorry. I truly am. I feel terrible about what happened, but you've got to admit that you haven't exactly been very tolerable these past few day either."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're being a bit... melodramatic."

"Oh, well excuse me for being upset that my husband doesn't trust me. I'm so sorry that I got angry at you for embarrassing me in front of my only other friend and putting a rather big hole into the plans I had made for our aniversary. I'm sorry for having feelings, and for being upset with you for your actions. Against popular belief I am not a robot John. I believe I'm allowed to be upset."

"What, because I was unable to catch on to your master plan? Because I might be a tiny bit jealous of your friendship with a man who so obviously wants more than a friendship from you. If jealousy and misunderstanding is enough to warrant acting like a complete arsehole, why haven't I had my turn with it yet?"

"Sounds like it's your turn now. And when have I ever misunderstood anything or been jealous?"

"Okay yeah, you're a genius and you never misunderstand anything. I'll leave that alone for now to protect your precious ego. But Sherlock, you've had jealousy issues since before we were even together."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, for starters, Ollie."

Almost instantly Sherlock's eyes flashed with something like anger and he pressed his lips into a thin line. "Exactly. You, Sherlock Watson-Holmes, are an extremely jealous man. Not only has there been Ollie, but that wedding planner, the woman from the surgery, even Mike and Bill!"

"Well forgive me for being insecure."

"You are many things, Sherlock, but insecure is not one of them. You say you're hurt because I don't trust you, because I don't like your association with one person who even you admit fancies you. You get jealous of anyone who breathes in my direction too hard. How do you think I feel?"

Sherlock's eyes immediately softened and his lips audibly parted when his jaw dropped.

"John."

"No, sod this," John said standing. "Sod all of it." He looked to where Sherlock was staring up at him from the couch. Sherlock was now resting completely against the armrest, leaning away from the centre of the sofa. John looked to where he had been sitting, and guessed that there had been at least a foot of space between them. It was a physical reminder of the growing rift between them, and of the way they had begin to emotionally pull away from each other. John felt his shoulders slump and he ran a hand over his face.

"I need a drink."

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and stretched out on the sofa, facing inwards. John stared at his still form, trying and failing to comprehend how they had come to be in this situation. Just days ago they had been happily married and affectionate towards each other. Now, they couldn't even be near each other without an argument arising. John longed to reach out and run his fingers through Sherlock's hair, to place a kiss on his temple and leave him be like he used to back when they were dating. Instead he just sucked in a breath before turning to leave the flat.

Several hours later John was stumbling up the stairs to 221B with a determined look on his face. Against his better judgment he had gone to Ollie's instead of the pub several blocks over like he'd originally planed to. They shared a few drinks while sitting on Ollie's couch watching Bond movies and talking over the movie. It was strangely reminiscent of their university days, save for the fact that instead of discussing parties, finals, or who was sleeping with whom, John talked about his husband and Ollie about the interns he had to train.

After downing several drinks, John had resolved to return home and year Sherlock a new one, and to make him realise just how terrible he had been acting lately. However, all his resolve flew out the window when he caught sight of Sherlock curled up on the couch in his housecoat, his hair thoroughly tousled.

One thing John had always found fascinating about Sherlock was how easy it was to read his emotions on his face when he was sleeping. when he was at peace with the world and himself, it was easy see in his slackened jaw and parted lips, and the contented sighs he gave on every other exhale. When Sherlock fell asleep upset, he remained that way throughout the night until he either woke up or found himself lost in a dream that left his subconscious unable to focus on whatever distress he felt when falling asleep.

Even in the minimal light and with the dangerously high amount of alcohol running through his veins, John could easily discern the slight downward curve of Sherlock's lips and the crease between his eyebrows. They weren't as prominent as they might have been if Sherlock were actively frowning, but the emotion was certainly there. John found it strangely comforting that Sherlock was as affected by this row as he was.

There was a slip of paper on the coffee table that caught John's eye. He carefully padded over, mindful not to wake Sherlock, and picked it up, using the moonlight seeping in through the window to read the note that had been hastily scribbled on the paper:

John,  
On the off chance that you do return home tonight and read this, feel free to leave me be and go to the bedroom. I believe it is my turn to sleep on the sofa tonight.

John was just finishing reading when Sherlock turned so that he was lying on his back with one hand resting on his stomach and the other draped across the armrest above his head. The fingers of his left hand were twitching, as if Sherlock were actually attempting to grasp something. John knew how vivid Sherlock's dreams could be. He could remember many mornings sitting at the kitchen table listening to Sherlock regale him with tales of himself as a swashbuckling pirate, or of his escapades as an international spy. Those mornings were always fond memories to John, always something he could go back to when the rest of the world was insufferable.

John caught himself staring at Sherlock's profile, or what was lit by the nearly-nonexistent light, and tried to remember why he was upset with the man sleeping on the couch. He tried to remind himself that there was a reason Sherlock had confined himself to the couch, and was not currently curled up in their bed.

However, the more John stared at Sherlock's face, peaceful except for the lingering traces of a frown on his features, the less angry he felt and the more he longed to curl up with Sherlock in their bed rather than spend a night alone there himself.

He pulled the coffee table away from the sofa to kneel down in front of the couch. He raised a hand and gently stroked several curls that had fallen over Sherlock's brow.

"Sherlock, wake up." One eye slowly creaked open and for a moment Sherlock simply stared at John. Eventually Sherlock seemed to realise just who he was looking at and tried to sit up. He seemed to be a bit off-balance, most likely due to the fact that he wasn't fully awake, and John had to help him to a seated position by placing a hand at the small of his back.

"John..." Sherlock said, his voice hoarse with sleep and several octaves lower than it usually was. "What ... I left a note-"

"Yeah, I read your note."

Then why-"

"Sherlock... I-"

"You've been with Ollie." John closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Of course Sherlock would be able to tell exactly where he'd been. He suddenly began regretting his decision to go to his friend's house, knowing he had been a prominent feature in the argument that had brought John there.

"Yes, I have. But I'm back now."

"Out of all the places for you to go when you leave here, you chose to go there?" Sherlock was bordering on livid now, all energy he had left being used to fuel his anger as he glared at John. "Why on Earth would you go there when-"

"Sherlock. I know I shouldn't have gone there. But I did, and I'm back now." Sherlock turned away from John and covered his face with his hands. 

"Yes," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his own hands. "You're back. So you can go back into the bedroom and get a good night's sleep while I stay out here and try not to picture you all buddy buddy with your old university friend, talking about how horrible a husband I am and letting him comfort you." 

John dropped his head and let his shoulders slump. He now hated himself for going to Ollie's. Now he knew it would be even harder for Sherlock to get over the animosity he felt for him, now that he also saw him as a person John went to when they were having marital problems. John hadn't said much, just that they were having an argument and he needed to get his mind off of it. It was completely innocent, but of course all Sherlock could deduce was that he'd been to Ollie's, and that was enough to cause another argument on top of the one they'd just had.

He sighed again, and Sherlock began to lay back down. His body reacted without him telling it to and John reached out to grab Sherlock and keep him sitting upright.

"Sherlock..." he said, staring down at where his fingers were clasped around the pale skin of Sherlock's wrist. "I ... I don't want us to be like this." Sherlock used his free hand to rub his eyes and yawned. He kept his eyes averted for several elongated seconds, then finally met John's eyes and sighed.

"Neither do I." John nodded and let go of Sherlock's wrist.

"Good. Then let's not be."

A brief flicker of unguarded hope flashed on Sherlock's face before he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"But John, I don't feel like dealing with this now."

"Then it can wait until morning." Sherlock's head snapped up and he fixed John with an intense stare. John simply stared back and felt his face soften as he stood up and held out his hand. "Come now," he said, "Let's go to bed."

Sherlock stared at John's hand for a moment, his expression unreadable. John wriggled his fingers, and tried to keep a small smile on his face. Sherlock's eyes met John's and he reached out to grab John's hand. John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's and he gave a slight tug to help Sherlock to his feet. Their hands remained joined as they made their way into the bedroom, their footsteps the only sounds that could be heard in the entire flat.

Sherlock, already dressed for bed, laid down and watched John strip down to his boxers. Any other time John would have appreciated Sherlock's calculating look, but now he just felt exposed. Like he could feel some physical manifestation of Sherlock's stare running over the skin he had revealed.

It was a completely mundane task, John told himself, something he'd done thousands of times before. Yet, for some reason he felt incredibly awkward climbing into bed with Sherlock. Still, John refused to let himself dwell on any less-than-favourable thoughts and draped an arm over Sherlock's midsection. He felt Sherlock tense for a moment, then relax against him, like he had done so many times before. John let out a sigh. He hadn't realised just how much he missed holding Sherlock like this until he was once again allowed to. Whatever problems that would come in the morning, and John knew there would be plenty, they could wait until then. As for now, John closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe in the familiar scent of Sherlock as he drifted off to sleep.


	15. Nevermind

The next morning when John opened his eyes he was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock sitting up in bed beside him. His arms were folded across his chest and he was staring forward at nothing with a frown on his face, and it appeared he hadn't noticed John's waking.

"Um, morning," John managed to croak out while wiping at his eyes. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing for several seconds. John closed his eyes again and settled down into the covers, but opened his when he felt the jostling of the bed. Sherlock was standing beside it, hands on his hips, staring down at John with an indecipherable expression on his face.

"I'm going to make tea. Do you want some?"

"You're making tea?" John asked, a teasing smile on his lips. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John immediately apologised. "Sorry, sorry. Um, yes, I would love some."

Sherlock left without another word, leaving John to sit alone in bed with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts. Obviously be hadn't been expecting for them to wake up cuddled together and that everything would be fixed, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt that their relationship was still obviously strained. Perhaps they could fix everything over tea. Tea always helped.

John sat and listened to the sounds of Sherlock in the kitchen for a while, and when he heard the kettle sing he dragged himself out of bed to join Sherlock at the table in the kitchen.

Sherlock had obtained a newspaper from somewhere in the flat and was holding it in front of him, pretending to read. Though it was subtle, John could tell when Sherlock's eyes flicked over to him while he set about making toast. Still, no one spoke.

By the time John sat down with his toast and the silence in the flat had grown to extremely awkward levels. Sherlock stole a piece of toast from John's plate, and John smiled, glad they Sherlock was at least making an attempt at normalcy.

They ate and drank in silence, never making eye contact, then Sherlock had a shower while John did the washing up. He was only slightly disappointed that there had been no conversation. No conversation meant no resolution and God knows John wanted that more than anything. At least there had been no fight, John tried to tell himself. He would take awkward mornings over arguments any day. He just hoped the awkwardness wouldn't last forever.

John showered after Sherlock, and when he came into the sitting room Sherlock was on the sofa with his laptop. The television was on and John settled down to watch it. He sat beside Sherlock, but not as close as he usually would have gotten to him. He kept his hands folded and in his lap, and his eyes remained on the television screen. He could hear Sherlock typing, but resisted the urge to ask him about it. He figured if they were to be doing any communicating that day, Sherlock might want to be the one to initiate it.

After an hour had passed and not a single word had been spoken John had grown restless. He continually shifted on the couch and drummed his fingers against his leg. He chewed his bottom lip and tried not to think about how loudly Sherlock was ignoring him.

"Oh for God's sake John just spit it out."

Sherlock's sudden outburst decimated the quiet of the flat and startled John. He started to turn towards Sherlock, but stopped himself. He didn't imagine that Sherlock's facial expression would be something he wanted to see, if his tone of voice was any indication.

"I don't... It's nothing."

"Obviously it isn't. Last night you said we could talk in the morning. It is now well into the afternoon and neither if us has yet to say anything about... well, you know." Sherlock waved a hand in the air. "You've grown increasingly agitated over the course of the day and I can only imagine that the longer this goes on the worse you'll get."

"While that might be true..." Very true, John caught himself thinking. "If you don't want to talk about it yet we don't have to."

"Yet."

"Hm?"

"If I don't want to talk about it, yet. What if I don't want to talk about it at all?" John but his tongue, knowing better than to indulge in his husband's petulance. If Sherlock was going to be difficult, then so be it.

"That's fine," he said, standing. "We don't have to if you don't want."

"Where are you going?"

"Bedroom."

"Now? It's only-"

"I don't care what time it is. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed." He didn't wait for a response from Sherlock, just turned and left the room. He quickly changed into his bedclothes and curled up beneath the covers, trying not to think about how concerned he was for the future of his relationship.

He hadn't realised how tightly he had curled himself until Sherlock came into the room about an hour later and climbed into bed with him, and he felt himself relax against his husband's chest.  


* * *

Over the course of the next week they tried twice more to resolve things, and both conversations had quickly turned into shouting matches that ended with one of them leaving the flat in an angry huff, and the other sulking on the couch.

John knew that they would never resolve anything at this rate, but he had no idea what to do. Every conversation he had with Sherlock now was overly-tense, like they were holding back everythign they really wanted to say. It was a superficial relationship, and John despised it. To make matters worse, the only times they weren't being excessively polite was spent bickering. John felt like he'd just played five sets in the championship round at Wimbledon after any interaction with Sherlock. It was so tiring.

After nearly a month of awkward mornings and silent dinners, of dancing around each other and pretending that everything was okay between them, John decided that he had had enough. He figured that if they couldn't work things out by themselves, maybe they could enlist the help of a professional. As much as John had hated therapy, he was willing to tough through anything to fix his marriage with Sherlock. He only wondered if Sherlock felt the same.

After about a week of deliberation John decided to bring it up over dinner. He'd made an Italian spread, knowing that eating Italian food always put Sherlock in a good mood. He had let it slip once that Italian food made him think if their first dinner together, and ever since then John had used it as a means to soften Sherlock before delivering any unfavourable news. He made spaghetti when he wanted to go to a medical convention in Sheffield, lasagna when he was invited to Ollie's birthday party, and now he had made some strange tortellini dish he found online.

The minute Sherlock walked into the kitchen and saw the plate John was making for him he scowled.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, though he knew he was being purposefully obtuse. Sherlock's face scrunched up and his glare intensified.

"Don't be an idiot John. You and I both know you only make Italian food when you have bad news."

"I don't really think going to a birthday party-"

"Just tell me what it is you have to say." Sherlock snapped. John sighed and tried not to let his husband's acidic tone bother him. Sherlock had been growing incredibly short-tempered the past few weeks, and now he treated John like he treated almost every other human: like he thought John was an idiot who wasn't worth his time. It seemed even the Italian food was failing to alleviate Sherlock's irritation.

"Alright," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll just come out and say it. I think we should go to marriage counselling."

There was a brief flicker of something that passed over Sherlock's face, but it disappeared so quickly John didn't have time to discern what emotion it was.

"That's nonsense," Sherlock said, turning away. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, he have been fighting quite a lot-"

"All couples fight."

"Not this much, and never over such silly little things like where to eat for dinner or who's going to make the bed, or..."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sherlock said as he waved his hands in the air. "We fight a lot now. That means nothing." John sighed and leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sherlock, it's not just the fighting," John said with a resigned sigh. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared down at the floor. "I can't... I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me." John didn't dare look up at Sherlock, for fear of whatever expression he might have seen on his face. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Sherlock and he braced himself for what would come next.

"You never give me a chance to!: Sherlock shouted, almost sounding like an upset child. "I can barely get a word out about anything without you jumping down my throat and chastising me!"

"Well maybe if you-"

"Stop trying to make this my fault!"

"I'm not!' John shouted back, finally looking up into Sherlock's eyes. His breathing was ragged and his pulse was elevated, and if the look on Sherlock's face was any indication he was in the same state. He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath, running a hand through his hair and trying to calm himself down.

"Look, I know I haven't been the best husband either, which is why I believe this could be good for us."

"I like to keep private things private, and I assumed you did too." Sherlock reached up with his own hand to run his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I fail to see how bringing someone else into this situation will help anything."

"Well we haven't really been doing that great a job of fixing anything by ourselves, have we?" Sherlock kept his mouth shut and instead chose to glare at John in response to his question. John fought to maintain eye contact but he found that he couldn't when Sherlock was looking at him like this. Any traces of love that might have lingered in his terse expression were nowhere to be found, and suddenly John felt his will to fight slipping away. Perhaps Sherlock no longer wanted this. What would John do then?

"I just ..." he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what else to do. I want this to work." John looks back up at Sherlock and tried to keep his face as impassive as he can. "Don't you think this marriage needs saving?"

Sherlock's face went blank. And not just blank. It was the blank sort of look he got when he was hiding something. John knew this face all too well, and seeing it now made his heart drop below his stomach. He was afraid of what Sherlock was hiding. He knew all he had to do was push a little further and Sherlock would reveal whatever feeling or emotion it was he was trying to keep hidden. John debated for a moment whether he really wanted to find out.

"Don't you think this marriage is worth saving?" Sherlock's eyes widened, and the mask he was wearing did more than just slip. It fell completely off, and John saw everything. He saw guilt, he saw shame, he saw surprise. He looked as if he had been caught, and John's heart sank even further.

"You don't... do you?" Sherlock's jaw dropped, and it was all the confirmation John needed. His ears burned and his stomach twisted, and he backed away from Sherlock, his facial expression akin to one of horror. "I-"

"John."

"No, save it. It's fine, I get it now."

Everything was finally making sense. Their anniversary, the petty fights, all those insinuations that John didn't trust him. Sherlock wanted out, but he wasn't man enough to simply say it. So he'd planned an overly-complicated anniversary present that he knew would go wrong, just so he could blame John with ruining the day. It was the perfect gateway to a slew of arguments, all seemingly stemming from that one incident, ultimately leading up to their separation. Sherlock gets to get out of the marriage he no longer wants, without feeling like the bad guy because John certainly had had his hand in their downfall as well. It was exactly something Sherlock would do.

_"I'll have you know I happen to be a fantastic actor."_

John thought back to when he had heard Sherlock utter these words, after his extended stay in Greece shortly after their wedding. It was hard to believe that was over a year ago. It was funny how much some things could change, yet some things remain exactly the same. Sherlock was an amazing actor. He'd played the part of scorned lover perfectly, It was a performance worthy of an Oscar, or a BAFTA.

"I'm just ... I've got to-"

"John."

John ignored Sherlock and grabbed his jacket, hastily pulling it on as he raced down the stairs. He felt as if his entire world were crashing down around him and he knew that if he stayed in that flat for one minute longer, he would surely lose it and do something he would later come to regret.

He landed wrong at the bottom of the stairs and a fierce pain shot up his right leg, but he continued anyway, ignoring Sherlock's shouts behind him.

"John, wait!" There was a hand on his arm, and he shrugged it off as he opened the door. He took a step outside and heard Sherlock's voice again, and a hand was once again on his person, grasping his shoulder so hard it almost hurt. "John, please."

"Let me go, Sherlock." John turned to face Sherlock, forcing himself to meet Sherlock's eyes. They were wide and red-rimmed, and John couldn't bear to look any longer. He knew why Sherlock was upset: he'd been found out. John had seen right through his act, and he couldn't bear the thought of having been bested. Just looking at Sherlock now made John's stomach churn and his blood boil.

"How long?" he asked in a voice shaking with anger.

"What?"

"How long have you felt this way?"

"I..." Sherlock trailed off and simply stared at John, his eyes narrowing before he looked away with a sigh. His silence felt like the final nail being hammered into the coffin in which their relationship rested. John closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When his eyes opened he saw Sherlock still standing in front of him, wringing his hands together and chewing on his bottom lip. "Don't go," he said quietly, his eyes locking with John's. Blue eyes held grey for several moments and both men nearly drowned in all the words being left unspoken, all the words that needed to be said or heard. For a moment John almost believed that Sherlock wanted him to say. He almost believed Sherlock still loved him. Then he remembered how great an actor he was and frowned. He refused to buy into Sherlock's lie this time.

"I don't think I can," he said, shaking his head.

"John, I-"

"Don't." Sherlock's face froze, and seconds later he was gone, and John was left standing on the pavement, staring at a closed door. He sighed, feeling all of whatever happiness that might have been left in him leave his body with the air he breathed out. He took a step backwards and looked up at the figure standing by the window.

Sherlock had one hand pressed against the glass, and was holding a square object in the other. John couldn't see his face, so he didn't know that Sherlock's eyes were brimming with tears as he watched his lover standing on the pavement staring up at the flat he would soon stop calling home. He also didn't see the way Sherlock's eyes widened when he noticed the slight hitch in John's step when he began to walk away.


	16. Here Comes Goodbye

John wandered through the streets of London for some time trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Sherlock no longer loved him, no longer wanted to be married to him. The bitter realization cut him to the very core of his being, so he pressed on, determined to evade the overwhelming feelings of depression starting to surround him. He kept his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets as he dodged passersby on the pavement, avoiding eye contact with each and every one of them.

Sherlock didn’t want him anymore. It was as simple as that. Somewhere along the way, while John had been deluding himself into thinking their relationship could be and would be saved, Sherlock had had something completely different in mind. He had been plotting their very downfall, and just waiting for everything to fall into place. John could feel hot tears stinging the backs of his eyes, and his throat closed up making it impossible to swallow properly.

Don’t cry in public John. Don’t cry at all, in fact. He isn’t worth it.

Oh hell, John thought. Sherlock was worth much more than a few silly tears. He had been willing to spend the rest of his life with him. He had given Sherlock everything he had, but he didn’t want it. He didn’t want him. John could feel himself become colder and colder with each step he took that led him away from Baker Street.

After drowning himself in these cyclical thoughts for a while, John realized he should probably try and find a place to stay for the night. He knew he couldn’t go to Baker Street, but where else could he go? Perhaps he could call Ollie and ask to kip on his couch for a bit. He couldn’t really make things any worse with Sherlock by doing so. It wasn’t like there was even anything between them anymore to make worse. How could he stay with a man who no longer loved him, who fought him every chance he got, who had been so manipulative to make John think everything had been his own fault even though he had been willing to do anything, literally anything to fix it? The answer was simple: he couldn’t.

He supposed both parties had to want the relationship to work for it to work, and that was why he and Sherlock had been doomed.

With his shoulders slumped and his chin resting against his chest, John trudged along on the pavement. He absently hoped for the earth to open up and swallow him whole so he could escape the crippling emptiness he felt. Less than an hour without Sherlock and already John was a mess. He was fearful of the condition he might be in when the time came to sign the divorce papers.

“John?”

At the sound of his own name being called, John turned around searching for the owner of the voice. He saw Lestrade standing just outside of a small grocery store a few feet away. He tried to give the detective inspector a friendly smile, but it came out as more of a grimace, and Lestrade frowned.

‘Alright John?” he asked, coming closer. For a brief moment, John considered lying and saying everything was fine, but he knew Lestrade would be able to see right through it. He had always been a terrible liar, and the man was a bloody detective. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out that everything was very much not fine.

“Honestly,” he said, sighing, “No.”

“You wanna grab a couple of drinks and talk about it?”

“No offense, but I’d rather not. Right now I just need to find a place to spend the night.”

“Baker Street not an option for you?” John didn’t answer, but the look on his face must have been answer enough. “Hey I’ve got a spare room in my flat. It’s where my kids stay when they come over but they’re with their mother so it’s yours if you want it.”

“You’re a saint, Greg.” John reached up and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Though they had never been very close, Lestrade had proven time and time again that he was capable of being a good friend to John. He was kind, hard-working, and no doubt would have plenty of interesting stories to tell, given his line of work. It was a shame John would most likely never heart them. He didn’t imagine he would be seeing Lestrade much anymore, seeing as how the only times he saw him was when he was with Sherlock.

Just thinking Sherlock’s name made John’s heart ache. He shook those thoughts out of his mind and hurried to keep up with Lestrade, who was several paces ahead of him. They walked in amicable silence until Lestrade stopped in front of a tall brick building. John had been here once before, when he’d come to Lestrade’s flat warming party. He’d gone with Sherlock, before they had gotten together. He remembered seeing Ollie there, and he remembered how coldly Sherlock had treated him. He'd noticed then that Sherlock wasn’t very fond of Ollie, but he didn’t know why until much later. Thinking back, John wondered how oblivious he must have been to not see the obvious jealousy that had plagued Sherlock from the moment he saw John and Ollie sitting together.

God, John thought to himself. He couldn’t go a single minute without Sherlock invading his thoughts. It was terrible, it was painful, but John couldn’t stop himself. He still loved Sherlock with every fibre of his being. He had for a while now. It would take more than a few hours for that to go away, if it ever did. John knew it was a very real possibility that he would spend the rest of his days pining for Sherlock, his lost love.

Thankfully, once Lestrade showed him to the room he’d be sleeping in, he didn’t stay around much longer after that. He simply informed John that he could stay as long as he wanted, just to lock up in the next day when he left. No doubt Lestrade would have to be at Scotland Yard early the next morning.

He gave Lestrade a small smile and thanked him again before he left the room. He pretended not to see the curious and concerned look that Lestrade gave him before closing the door.

John paced in the small confines of the bedroom for several moments once he was left alone. He could hear Lestrade moving about in the kitchen, most likely putting away the groceries he had just purchased. He could hear his footsteps as he retreated to his own bedroom for the night.

John let out a sigh and planted himself on the edge of the twin bed. With his head in his hands, John finally allowed himself to feel every emotion he’d been keeping repressed since he walked out of Baker Street. His chest heaved with quiet sobs and his eyes stung with the tears he shed. When he’d first returned to London after being invalided from the army, he’d spent many nights in this same position. The difference between then and now was that then he had been fighting against feeling of loneliness and emptiness, and now all he felt was pain. Pain at having lost the love of his life, pain at being rejected, the pain that came with heartbreak.

He knew it was stupid to think so, but he couldn’t help but feeling he’d failed. He felt like he’d failed himself. He felt like he’d failed Sherlock. Perhaps if he had been a better husband, a better friend, a better partner... Maybe then Sherlock wouldn’t have lost interest.

Or perhaps this had been inevitable from the beginning. He was just an average bloke, and Sherlock was a genius. He shouldn’t have been settling down with the likes of him. Tall, dark, handsome, enigmatic, brilliant Sherlock Holmes married to the shorter than average, quick-tempered and trigger-happy former army doctor John Watson. It was far from a match made in heaven, though it sure had felt like it.

John continued to replay his last conversation with Sherlock. He tried to dissect every word and facial expression he’d seen, not quite sure what he was hoping to find but wanting to find it anyway.

He thought back to how rashly he had acted, how he’d let his emotions get the better of him. He hadn’t even given Sherlock a chance to speak, to explain himself. All he had done was play victim and berate the man.

There was a small glimmer of hope that this had somehow been a giant misunderstanding. He knew Sherlock was far from experienced when it came to relationships. Perhaps he had actually just been trying to be romantic and creative with his anniversary scavenger hunt. Perhaps he just really didn’t want to go to counselling. Perhaps he had thought they could have worked it out by themselves.

John climbed beneath the covers with his mind made up to go see Sherlock first thing in the morning and ask him to explain his side. No matter how painful a second rejection might be, John knew he would never be able to live with himself if he missed out on a possible reconciliation between them, however slim the chance of it may be.

It would be a long night for John, full of fitful tossing and turning and nowhere near enough sleep. In the morning when he woke up he felt even worse than when he had gone to bed, but he felt remarkably calm. He felt as if he were gearing up for battle as he finger-combed his hair standing in front of the mirror in Lestrade’s bathroom. He squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw, and with a quick nod he turned and left, locking the front door behind him as he did so.

He checked the pockets of his coat as he walked, and was glad to feel his keys inside the left pocket. His wallet, however, was nowhere to be found, which meant he would be walking back to Baker Street instead of taking a cab.

As he walked, John tried not to dwell on how he was already thinking of the flat as ‘Baker Street’. Up until yesterday he had considered that two-bedroom flat to be his home, and had always referred to it as such, at least in his mind.

It took him a while to find the flat, not being very accustomed to the part of London in which Greg lived. It took him a while to find a familiar street, and by the time he was standing at the front door of the flat he was a bit winded.

John unlocked the door with shaking hands and hurried up the stairs. He stepped into the kitchen and stood silently, listening for any sounds of life from anywhere in the flat. He heard nothing, which meant either Sherlock was sleeping or he wasn’t there. Maybe he had gone looking for John and had yet to return. John had to admit the thought of Sherlock spending an entire night focused only on finding him was quite appealing.

He crept over to the bedroom door and pressed his ear against it. Sherlock had a tendency to talk in his sleep when he was troubled, and if there was anything that could possibly trouble his mind it would be their failed marriage.

Failed marriage. The words stung though they had only been thought, not actually felt. John didn't dwell on them for long.

The bedroom was silent as well. Sherlock wasn’t there. John leaned against a counter in the kitchen and tried to think of what to do next. Should he wait here until Sherlock returns? Should he go out looking for him? Could he try and contact him? John didn’t remember where he’d left his phone. He knew he had left it somewhere here, perhaps in the sitting room.

John pushed himself off of the counter and almost started on his way into the next room, but something laying on the kitchen table caught his eye.

There was the usual clutter on the table, save for one spot near the centre that had been cleared. There was only a piece of paper resting there. John grabbed it and began to read:

_John,_

_If you are reading this it must mean you have returned to collect your things. Take all the time you need to move. I won’t be getting in your way as I’ve gone on an extended holiday and won’t return for quite some time. I am truly sorry it has come to this, and I wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors._

_\- Sherlock_

John didn’t realize his hand was shaking until after he’d finished reading Sherlock’s note. He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it onto the floor before covering his face. Here he was absolutely torn apart at the seams, heartbroken and desperate to reconcile with his husband, and Sherlock had gone on a bloody holiday! The day after they broke up! If John had ever doubted that Sherlock seriously no longer wanted him, that doubt was gone now.

It was really over. He and Sherlock were officially separated, and going to be divorced. John’s knees felt as if they would soon fail him, so he took a seat at the table. He glowered at the crumpled piece of paper on the floor. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and he could feel tears welling up again. He blinked them back with force, angry at himself for allowing them to form.

That bastard! How dare he make him feel like this? Like he was worthless, pathetic, weak. Sherlock had reduced him to an emotional mess of a man, and he hated him for it. He hated him for being so obviously unaffected. He hated him because he knew he still loved him.

He found his phone and wallet and left the flat. First things first, he needed to find a new place to live.


	17. (Not Quite) Moving On

The first thing John did when he left Baker Street was head straight to the bank. He and Sherlock had opened a joint bank account a while ago, when they first got engaged, for no reason other than because it was a thing couples just did. They'd put a substantial amount of money into it, combining both their savings and a little extra that Mycroft had thrown in as an engagement present. By now John could only imagine how much money was in that account. He guessed it was a lot, if the card they received every Christmas was any indication.

John only withdrew a small amount, enough for one month's accommodation at a decent hotel. It would have to do until he found a more suitable living arrangement. As for now, he had to get out of that flat. John also bought a storage unit to put all of his things in, because there was no way he'd be keeping stacks of boxes in a hotel room.

Packing had been more painful than John originally imagined it to be. It was also quite difficult. After living with Sherlock for so long John had ceased to think of objects as his or Sherlock's. They were simply theirs. He spent half an hour alone trying to remember what books on the shelves actually belonged to him, and which were Sherlock's. He then had to spend another half hour trying not to break down and cry over the finality of the entire moving process.

Rather than hire a moving service or call on a favour from a friend, John moved everything himself. He rented a moving truck once all the boxes had been packed and loaded it up before taking the majority of them to his storage unit. The boxes that he had put his clothes in went with him to the hotel. He had taken one last look around at the sitting room and kitchen before pulling out his key and leaving it in the same place he had found Sherlock's note.

When he got to the hotel the receptionist gave him a funny look when he checked in. She said nothing though, and John was grateful for that. He couldn't trust himself not to break down if someone asked him anything similar to 'Are you okay?' She wordlessly handed him his key and he took it without attempting to smile at her. He knew she would have been able to see through it anyway.

The room was small and within it John found a double wide bed, a wardrobe, and a matching desk. There was a door leading to the adjoining bathroom, but other than that there was nothing in the room. John was overcome with a suffocating feeling of emptiness the moment he stepped over the threshold.

After confining himself to his miserable hotel room for several days, John went job hunting. He started at the surgery he used to work at, hoping Sarah was still in charge and would take pity on him. Fortunately, she did, and he walked out of her office less than an hour after walking in with a job and something close to a smile on his face.

Next up, housing. He couldn't stay in that hotel forever, but he was having a considerably harder time finding a flat that was both affordable and in a decent location.

After listening to John moan and groan for weeks about his less-than-pleasant living conditions, Ollie had offered up his spare bedroom. John accepted the offer without thinking twice about it, and officially moved in the next week.

It was nice, living with Ollie. During the day they both worked, and in the evenings they took turns cooking dinner. John appreciated having a home cooked meal every night, though there was still a part of him that longed for Chinese takeaway.

After dinner they would settle down on the sofa and watch crap telly and share stories from work until one of them was too tired to keep his eyes open and went to bed. The other usually followed right after him.

Every now and then John would catch himself wondering how different his life would have been if it had been Ollie he had met in a park all that time ago instead of Mike. How long would they have maintained this camaraderie? Would John have gotten bored with the normality? Would he have somehow fallen for Ollie the same way he had for Sherlock, or was that mad consulting detective the only man capable of turning John?

Whenever John found himself thinking about Sherlock, which was often, he went for a walk to clear his mind. The fresh air didn't do much to stop the thoughts about Sherlock from coming, but it was better than sitting at home and moping on the sofa.

It was three weeks after he'd moved in with Ollie, two months since he had found Sherlock's note on the kitchen table, when one of John's walks had lead him down an eerily familiar street. It took John less than a second to realize where he had wondered to, and the moment he did he felt all the heat drain from his face.

John hadn't dared step foot anywhere near here since he'd moved out, but for some reason his feet had brought him here today. He licked his lips and stared at the familiar wooden door. His feet began moving before his brain told them to and soon he found himself standing before it, staring up at the window that overlooked the street.

He could see a shadow passing back and forth behind the curtain, and immediately felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn't seen Sherlock since the argument that ended their relationship over two months ago. Now here he was, a simple press of a button away.

He raised his hand and hesitated. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to just show up at Sherlock's doorstep? What would he say to him? That is, if Sherlock even let him in and didn't just slam the door in his face the moment he saw who it was.

John was just about to turn and walk away when he saw that the door was slightly ajar. Though Sherlock cared very little for his own safety, he at least was smart enough to always close and lock the front door.

He pressed his hand gently against the door and pushed it open. He tried to keep quiet, in case there was someone dangerous waiting inside for him. Perhaps the figure he had seen stalking by the window wasn't Sherlock after all. What if Sherlock was in trouble?

John immediately forgot all about how he shouldn't even concern himself with Sherlock's affairs anymore and pushed the door all the way open, closing it behind him and quickly starting up the stairs.

The door to the sitting room was wide open, and John nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw Sherlock standing at the window, his back turned to him. He was clad in his signature blue housecoat and loose pyjama bottoms, and his hair was very unkempt. John would have guessed he had just woken up from the way he looked.

"For God's sake, Lestrade I told you-"

Sherlock stopped abruptly as he turned around and his eyes landed on John standing in the doorway. The surprise was evident on his face as he stared at John, eyes wide and mouth open. For a moment John was stunned into silence when he saw Sherlock's haggard appearance. Not only was his hair and clothing a mess, but his skin looked waxen and paler than usual, and his face looked sunken in. There were dark bags beneath his eyes. Eyes that looked incredibly tired as well as surprised. John wondered what sort of case he was working on with Lestrade that had him looking like this.

"Uh, hi," John managed weakly. The thought to smile crossed his mind but it quickly vanished as he stood there, staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"John..."

The sound of his name falling from Sherlock's lips was almost enough to bring a sob to John's own. He fought back the urge and kept a straight face as he stared down the man he was still so helplessly in love with and who was looking at him like an alien creature.

"I uh... I probably shouldn't be here but I ... I was just wondering what we were doing about the .. the uh ..." He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'divorce'. Thankfully Sherlock seemed to catch on to what he meant anyway and nodded his head.

"Oh, well, the grounds for dissolving a civil partnership are unreasonable behavior, desertion, and simply having lived apart for more than two years. I don't personally believe either of us has exhibited anything that could legally be considered unreasonable behavior. You have not deserted me nor I you. That leaves only one option. We can get a dissolution if we have lived apart for more than two years and both agree in writing to end..." Sherlock trailed off and stared at the floor. John watched him, trying to find any words to say to fill the awkward silence. After a moment Sherlock sucked in a breath and met John's eye again.

"Mycroft will take care of the court costs and legal stuff. The paperwork, and all that. All we have to do is show up at his office and file the petition, when the time comes. Then we'll apply for a conditional order, and after six weeks we can apply for a final order." Sherlock had recited all of this as if he were reading the nutrition facts on a box of cereal instead of going over the details of his own divorce proceedings. John felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart, but he managed not to let his pain show and maintained eye contact with Sherlock.

"Right, good," he said, finally looking away. He didn't see the way Sherlock deflated when he said this. When he looked at Sherlock again he had regained his composure and was striding to grab his coat from where it was resting on the sofa.

"Yes, well, if that's all you were concerned about... I really should be going. I've got somewhere important to be." John decided not to comment on how Sherlock was going to this 'important place' dressed in his pyjamas and followed Sherlock out of the flat. "You feel free to stick around for a bit if you want," Sherlock continued as he bounded down the stairs. "Maybe you could drop in and say hello to Mrs. Hudson. She's been asking about you. Constantly." There was something almost bitter in Sherlock's tone of voice. Like he couldn't bear talking about John with anyone. John felt another knife being driven into his chest. He wondered if Mrs. Hudson knew. Surely Sherlock had at least told her why John was no longer living there.

"Does she know?"

"Everyone does," Sherlock said, turning to face him at the bottom of the stairs. Their faces were inches apart, and every cell in John's body was screaming for him to close the distance between their lips, to grab a handful of that unruly hair and make Sherlock remember why he ever bothered with him in the first place. Instead, he gave a weak smile and nodded. Sherlock turned back around and opened the door, stepping outside.

"Well ..." Sherlock said, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at his feet. "It was nice to see you, John."

"Uh, you too. See you in two years, I guess." Sherlock gave him a strange sort of smile, then bowed his head and held out his hand. John stared at it for a moment, feeling his own hand clench in response before he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's. The simple touch, and feeling of bare skin against skin sent a spark all the way up John's arm, and he felt Sherlock give his hand one more weak pump before letting go. John kept his head down until he heard Sherlock walking away, and after he was sure Sherlock had disappeared around the corner, he lifted his head and stared at where he had been standing. He waited another few seconds, then sighed and turned to go the other way.

~

The next time John saw Sherlock's face it wasn't in person. He had standing in line at Tescos with a pack of Fosters and some crisps, when something caught his eye on the cover of a magazine near the register. He'd balanced the crisps in one arm with the beer to grab the magazine. In the bottom right corner was a photo of two men having a meal outside a café. Though it was a bit blurry after having been zoomed in, it was obvious one of those men was in fact Sherlock; He was wearing his signature coat and scarf. John squinted at the other face, and felt his stomach drop when he realised who it was.

John had calmly put the magazine back in its place and bought his groceries. Then he'd gone straight to Ollie and asked him to help set him up on a date. A while ago he remembered Ollie mentioning a girl who was a fan of his blog and had been dying to meet him. John figured she'd been waiting long enough. And if Sherlock could move on and start dating again, with Victor of all people, so could he.

Her name was Harriet Turner and she worked at a local school, and she was pretty and sweet. However, she seemed more keen on discussing Sherlock and the cases on his blog than anything else. John had tried to politely tell her that he didn't really want to discuss his estranged husband on a first date, and for some reason Harriet hadn't taken too kindly to that. She left before the main course was even served.

The next date John went on wasn't for another few months. He had been sitting at home watching GoldenEye and wallowing in self pity when Ollie showed up and told him they were going out.

John hadn't questioned it, just went to have a shower and got dressed. In hindsight he should have noticed something was up when Ollie had sent him back to his room to change into something more 'presentable', but he had been out of sorts that day and just blindly went along with what he was told to do.

Only on the way to the restaurant did Ollie reveal where they were going, and why they were going there. That night John went on his first double date since uni.

Her name was Lydia and John had instantly been captivated by her stunning silver eyes and bright smile. She was a dentist, and a friend of Ollie's fiancée. She was pretty, and smart, and had long, dark curly hair that accentuated her pale skin. She was a fan of James Bond and classic rock, and not once did she mention Sherlock. At the end of the night she'd given John her phone number and made him promise to call. He had several days later and asked her out to lunch, and things had gone from there.

John had always suspected there had been an ulterior motive behind Ollie's setting him up with Lydia. Those suspicions were confirmed about a month and a half after the double date. John had been flitting about getting ready for a date with her when Ollie stopped him.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"Yeah, sure mate," John said, even as he glanced to the clock on the wall. Ollie motioned for John to sit on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, which he did. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's great!" Ollie said, smiling widely. "How are things with you?"

"Fine." John said, as he usually did whenever anyone asked him if he was okay. He didn't say he still thought about Sherlock at all times of the day, and that he was still helplessly in love with him despite his attempts to move on. He didn't say that every moment he spent awake was draining him to a point way past exhaustion. He didn't tell Ollie that he'd started keeping his gun in the drawer in his bedside table, and spent most nights staring at it longingly and trying to muster up the courage to just end it all. Because other than that, everything was fine. "Yeah, things are fine."

"What about with Lydia? Everything fine on that front?"

"Oh, yeah, she's great." John managed to smile when he said this. Lydia really was great. She was kind and smart and pretty and a perfect distraction from his suffocating thoughts. Ollie smiled back at him, and reached out to grab John's forearm.

"Look, John, I really have loved this, us living together and all that. And I don't want you to get offended by what I'm about to say-"

"You want me to move out." Ollie froze for a moment, staring at John like he was trying to figure out how he'd known he was going to ask that. "I've sort of learned how to ... read people."

"Oh, right." Sherlock's name was left unspoken in the air. Ollie cleared his throat. "It's nothing against you. It's just, Evie and I, we want to go ahead and live together. I mean, we were just going to wait until after the wedding, but-"

"Say no more." John said, forcing a smile. "I'll start looking for a place tomorrow. I've kind of got a date to get to now though, so-"

"Well see that's why I wanted to talk to you before you go. You say things are going great with you and Lydia, maybe you could ask her?"

"It hasn't even been two months. I think it's a bit early for that." Ollie said nothing, just gave him a calculating look and nodded his head.

"Right, yeah. Okay. You enjoy your date."

"Thanks." John gave Ollie a quick wave over his shoulder as he walked out the door. He walked for a few blocks, then turned and ducked into an alley, pressing his back against the cool brick wall and covering his face with his hands and letting out a shaky breath.

So that's how this was going to go. He was going to move back into a crappy one room flat to spend his days pretending he was okay, and his nights facing the fact that he wasn't. He really wasn't. He wondered how long he would torture himself before he finally pulled his gun from its hiding place and put it to use.

He was late for his date. He apologised profusely without offering any explanation, and Lydia accepted it. That was another great thing about her. She knew when to just let something go. Many days John had come to meet her post-panic attack or they scheduled dates on what would be danger nights if John had them, and she never asked him what was wrong. Instead she chattered about whatever came to mind, and John couldn't have appreciated it more.

"So, how is everything at work?" he asked her after they ordered. Lydia smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when John's phone started ringing. "Ah, I'm sorry about that," he said, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. He didn't bother checking the name on the screen, just pressed 'Answer' and held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this Doctor Watson-Holmes?" John fought the urge to cringe. He had almost forgotten that was still his legal name

"Ah, yes. It is."

"Well, I'm calling to inform you that ah, your husband has just been brought into A&E."

"What?" John felt his heart sink. "What happened?"

"I've been ordered not to give any details. We already spoke to his brother who requested that no information be given over the phone. He simply insisted that we contact you and tell you to come in."

"Alright," John said, standing from the table. "Alright, I'm on my way." He hung up the phone and gave Lydia and apologetic smile. "I'm so.. so sorry but I've really got to go."

"That's alright," she said smiling. "It sounded like an emergency." She reached out and gave John's hand a quick squeeze. "Just, give me a call later on and we can reschedule this."

"Thanks for understanding." With that John turned and left, fighting the urge to just run out of the restaurant. After he climbed into a cab and all but shouted the address of St. Bart's Hospital, he dialed Mycroft's number. He answers after the first ring.

"John. I assume St. Bart's has contacted you?"

"Yes, what-"

"Are you on your way?"

"Yes, yes of course. But why-"

"Just hurry." And with that, the line went dead.


	18. At Long Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've spent days trying to get this right, and I think this is as good as it's going to get. Enjoy.

John spent the entire cab ride in a heightened state of anxiety. His eyes darted back and forth between the two windows at his side and his fingers continually danced across his knees.

Sherlock was in trouble. Sherlock was in A&E. Mycroft had told the hospital to contact him, knowing they weren't even together anymore, and wouldn't explain why. Something was very, very wrong.

John threw a few notes at the cabbie and climbed out of the car before it even came to a full stop and all but sprinted through the front doors of the hospital. There were several people standing around the front desk that he pushed past to speak to the receptionist.

"Hello my name is John Watson-Holmes and-"

"He's been admitted. Room 221." John didn't bother to thank the woman, just nodded and sprinted off in search of Sherlock's room. His heart was pounding and his brow was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat but all he could think about was Sherlock.

Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.

What on Earth could have happened to him? Something so terrible even Mycroft was worried. Something that warranted him being contacted despite the fact that he and Sherlock weren't even living together anymore. Something so important that all he needed to do was give the receptionist his name and he was allowed access to information he should not have gotten so easily. John suspected that was Mycroft's doing. He'd forgotten how convenient it was to have the British Government as your brother-in-law.

John sprinted through the halls of the hospital desperately trying to remember the layout and how to get to room 221. Admittedly, it had been a while since he'd last been here, but now certainly wasn't the time for his memory to fail him.

The door to Sherlock's room was closed when John approached it, and for a moment he hovered in the hallway trying to muster up the courage to step inside. After not seeing Sherlock for months he was more than fearful of what he may find when he entered the room. He thought back to the last time he'd seen Sherlock, and remembered how frazzled he had looked then, and swallowed hard.

He raised a shaking hand and opened the door. In the pale light of the hospital room John could make out Sherlock's still form lying on the hospital bed beneath the pristine white sheets. There were the usual hospital accessories, IV drip, heart monitor and such. But there was also a ventilator beside Sherlock's bed, pumping oxygen into his lifeless body.

John's eyes remained fixed on Sherlock's face as he approached the bed, and when he stared down at him his eyes burned with the tears he refused to let fall.

Sherlock looked so much worse than when he'd seen him last. He looked like an empty shell of the magnificent man he once was. Broken beyond repair, with dark circles beneath his eyes and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. His already prominent cheekbones had become even more so with Sherlock's face sunken in as it was. The corners of his mouth were turned perpetually downward, and there was a crease between his eyebrows that looked like it had been there for months.

His lips were blue and his hair had lost all it's shine. His once perfectly-coiffed hair now hung in greasy, loose strands across his forehead and stuck to the clammy skin there. Sherlock was the perfect picture of death, and if it weren't for the steady, if a bit slow, beeping of the heart monitor John would have guessed he was looking at a corpse.

He brought a shaking hand up to his mouth to muffle the sob that rose to his lips, and used his other hand to push Sherlock's hair back from his forehead. He allowed his fingers to linger for a moment, let his fingertips trail down the side of Sherlock's face before he pulled away.

He walked around to the other side of the bed to sit in the chair that had been placed beside it. Either someone else had been in this room or they had been expecting John's arrival. He planted himself in the seat and reached out to grab Sherlock's limp hand on the bed.

John didn't bother checking the time, so he had no idea how much time had passed before he heard someone enter the room.

"Um, sir, you can't be in here." John lifted his eyes from Sherlock's face to look at the nurse who had just entered. She held a clipboard defensively against her chest and was giving him her best authoritative look. "Only immediate family members are allowed to visit patients in critical condition." John stared at her for a moment, before looking back down at Sherlock and stroking his hair.

"I'm his husband."

The silence that followed his statement hung in the air long after the words had left John's lips. He continued to stare at Sherlock's face even after the nurse muttered her apologies and came to stand by the bed.

"I just have to check his vital signs. Make sure the naloxone is working." John didn't even hear her. He just nodded his head and allowed the young woman to do her job. It took only a few minutes before she stepped back and began scribbling something on the clipboard in her hands.

"Everything looks alright," she said, looking up at John.

"Then why isn't he waking up?" John asked quietly, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock. His eyes met the nurse's and she gave him a pained look. A look that went further than just sympathy. Perhaps she had been in a similar situation? If Sherlock were conscious he would have been able to deduce it. John turned back to stare at his face. He looked like he was simply sleeping, rather than lost somewhere in the abyss of unconsciousness.

The nurse slipped out without another word, leaving John alone with Sherlock. Everything in John's mind was screaming for him to leave right then. He could see that Sherlock was going to be alright, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. So he remained by his bedside for the rest of the night, falling asleep with his head resting on the mattress beside Sherlock's hand.

When he awoke the next morning there was another figure in the room. It took John a moment to realise it was not a doctor or a nurse, but Mycroft standing at the foot of the bed, watching Sherlock with what anyone else would have called a detached expression on his face. John, however, had been around the man enough to tell when he was showing genuine concern or worry, and Mycroft was showing both emotions by the bucket full. The fact that Mycroft was so very disturbed by what had happened to Sherlock was torture to John. Calm, cool, collected Mycroft Holmes was standing at the foot of his brother's hospital bed with a look of pure anguish on his face. Well, as close to anguish as his haughty features would let him show.

A doctor and nurse appeared shortly after John awoke, to deliver the prognosis and check Sherlock's vital signs. The nurse soon disappeared, and Mycroft spoke with the doctor for a while, and John remained frozen in his seat, unable to speak after hearing the news he had just been told.

Overdose, the doctor had said. Apparently it was a miracle Sherlock was still alive. The doctor said Sherlock had taken a strong enough dose to kill two people. It was a good thing John had already been sitting because otherwise he would have collapsed upon hearing that.

He remembered the young nurse saying something about naloxone. He should have realised it then. He was a doctor,for crying out loud. He should have been able to figure out what had happened. He supposed his judgement had been clouded from the moment he stepped into the room and laid eyes on Sherlock.

"You should eat, John." Mycroft's voice cut through John's thoughts and he wrenched his eyes away from Sherlock's face. He hadn't even noticed the doctor's departure he had been so out of it. John stared blankly at Mycroft, whose eyes remained on his brother.

"You haven't eaten in roughly twenty four hours. There's a cafeteria here. Just give them your name and you shouldn't have to pay for your meal." John's eyes grew wide as he stared up at Mycroft, his heart rate began to accelerate and suddenly his lungs were forgetting how to function. Leave? How could Mycroft ask him to leave Sherlock, after he was the one who called him to the hospital in the first place?

"I'm not leaving him."

"Relax, John. It's not like he's going anywhere." John fought the urge to stand up and slap Mycroft right then and there. How could he say such a thing about his own brother, who was lying comatose in a hospital bed. How could he suggest that John leave Sherlock while he was in this state? John looked down and shook his head.

"I can't leave him."

"You have once before." John's eyes snapped up to Mycroft's face and his jaw dropped. Never before had he heard Mycroft's voice sound so bitter and resentful. Then again, why would he not be angry at the man who walked out on his little brother. John knew Mycroft was alluding to their separation. Technically it had been John who left all those months ago.

"What-"

"I can assure you he will be here when you return. Don't let yourself go to waste as well."

As well.

There were so many things John wanted to say in that moment, but his train of thought was derailed by the sound of his stomach gurgling, and with one more longing look at Sherlock, John decided that yeah, he should probably go get something to eat. That didn't mean Mycroft wasn't going to get an earful the moment he returned, though.

John hurriedly made his way down to the cafeteria and scarfed down a deli sandwich so fast he was sure his stomach would be aching later. He then grabbed a bottle of water to keep in the room with him and made his way back to Sherlock.

Mycroft had taken the seat beside Sherlock's bed, and was busying himself with something on his phone.

"I'm back now."

"Yes, I can see that." Mycroft said, still not looking up. Once again anger flared up in John's chest, but he quickly squashed it when Mycroft lifted his eyes to look at Sherlock. John understood suddenly that Mycroft was in fact scared for his brother. Of course he would be more of a pain in the arse than usual. He wasn't used to having to deal with emotions, so he was simply shutting down. He and Sherlock apparently had more in common than they'd both like to admit.

John made his way over to stand at the side of Sherlock's bed, opposite Mycroft. A semi-awkward silence hung in the air, but for some reason John didn't want to break it. Still, he had a million questions running through his mind, and he knew at least one of them could be answered by Mycroft.

"So um, why did you call me here?" Mycroft didn't respond for a moment. He sat staring at Sherlock, then sighed and stood.

"I'd better be off. I have some urgent business to attend to. I trust you will remain here? And let me know if there are any..." he trailed off and glanced at Sherlock. "Developments?"

"Yes, of course, but why-"

"Good afternoon, John."

John watched slack-jawed at Mycroft strolled out of the room, then turned his attention back to the man sleeping in front of him. He reached a hand out and placed it over Sherlock's. The skin was still cool to the touch. John found himself wishing desperately for Sherlock to just stop this and wake up. He had so many questions. Why had he started using again? How had he been so careless and overdosed? Why on Earth would he not wake up?

___________________________________________________________

It was another week before Sherlock woke up. A week of sleeping mostly upright in the chair beside Sherlock's bed, of pretending to be sick to avoid going into work, of giving Ollie excuses as to why he had been absent lately, of sitting there staring at Sherlock willing him to just wake up. For an entire week he had laid there, eyes closed, chest rising and falling rhythmically. After three days he was taken off of oxygen supply. According to the doctor the naloxone had worked perfectly, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with Sherlock.

"Except for the fact that he's unconscious," John had said bitterly.

Mycroft popped in at regular intervals. He never spoke. He only gave a small nod of the head in acknowledgement to John every time he entered the room. He always stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on Sherlock. John knew Mycroft wanted Sherlock to wake up just as badly as he did, that he was just as worried. Still Sherlock's eyes remained closed. The longer they stayed closed, the less hope John had for a positive outcome.

John had been sitting in his chair trying not to fall asleep when he'd heard the telltale rustling of bed sheets, and a groan that could only have been produced by the vocal chords of the world's only consulting detective.

"John?"

Sherlock's voice was hoarse from disuse, but that didn't matter because Sherlock was awake. John's eyes flew open and his head snapped up so fast he was sure he had given himself whiplash. However, the only thing on John's mind was the fact that Sherlock's eyes were open. They were open, and staring at him. For the first time in months, John found himself eye to eye with Sherlock. All of a sudden he was incredibly aware of how disheveled he must look.

"What ... " Sherlock paused and coughed, and John realised his throat must have been painfully dry. A sad smile slowly spread across Sherlock's face and his eyelids gently fell shut. "Have I somehow managed to make it into heaven?"

"What, no, Sherlock, you're in the hospital." Sherlock opened his eyes and narrowed them at John.

"What are you doing here then? What am I doing here then?"

"What, in a hospital? Do you not remember?" Sherlock frowned and shook his head.

"No, I meant what am I doing alive?"

"What- alive? Sherlock-"

"John, a word."

Both John and Sherlock turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, umbrella in hand, stony expression on his face. John glanced back to Sherlock, who immediately ducked his head down, then stood from his seat. He cast one more look over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was watching him cautiously, before following Mycroft out into the hallway.

"Okay, look. It's been a week now. He's awake, and I want to know what's going on. What does he mean why is he still alive?" John was livid by this point and was practically shouting, but he didn't pay any mind to the strange looks he was receiving from Mycroft and those nearby.

"John." Mycroft spoke with the usual detachment in his voice. John stared at him and wondered if this was the same man that had spent hours at the foot of his brother's bed while he was unconscious. John figured Sherlock would never even know Mycroft had come to visit him. John decided to think about how sad that was later. As for now, he wanted answers.

"I demand you tell me what's going on? What does he mean by that? Why did you have them call me?"

"He left a note, John."

The words that John had been preparing to say died in his throat. All of the heat drained from John's face. What he had begun to suspect was apparently true. This hadn't been an act of carelessness. This had been a planned suicide attempt on Sherlock's behalf. John wasn't sure which would have mad him angrier, but he knew that he was beyond pissed that Sherlock would do such a thing to himself.

Mycroft reached inside the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to John, then turned and walked away. John watched him disappear down the hallway, then turned and looked through the door at Sherlock. He was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, glaring at nothing. 

John unfolded the note. There were only two sentences written in excessively sloppy script. John figured Sherlock had written this with the drug already coursing through his veins. As his eyes scanned over the words he felt his face flush and he was sure he was red to the tips of his ears. The note simply read:

I can't go on like this anymore. I am so sorry John.

John crumpled the paper in his fist and stormed into the room, almost throwing the balled up note at Sherlock when he finally reached him.

"You want to tell me what the hell this is?" he asked, holding up the offending piece of paper. Sherlock didn't even bother with a glance at the paper before shrugging and looking away.

"I'm sure you can recognize a suicide note when you see one." John couldn't believe how flippant Sherlock was being about this. John was unable to even begin to wrap his mind around what was going on. Apparently Sherlock was suicidal. That much had been made glaringly obvious. But there was so much that was still a mystery to John, and he hated it.

"Sherlock ..." John sighed and ran a hand down his face. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to yell at Sherlock when he was in such a state. "Why ... what ... I don't even know where to start."

"You want to know why I did it."

"Yes."

"Because I no longer enjoy living. Next question."

"Why do you ... what happened that's got you like this?" Sherlock briefly met his eye before biting his lip and looking away.

"I'm not sure you want to know."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." John leaned against Sherlock's bed, and Sherlock scooted over to make room for him to sit on the mattress. In that moment all of their past arguments and current drama flew out the window, and all for a moment John actually forgot that this was a man he was to be divorcing in a year. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, and John sat quietly. He knew this was going to be a tough conversation on a delicate subject, but he knew he had to get Sherlock talking.

"It started many months ago. When we ... well, when we had our last argument as a couple." Sherlock looked down and began toying with the sheets he was laying beneath, obviously trying to hard to appear nonchalant. "I remember you said ... when you said our marriage needed saving I-" Sherlock broke off suddenly and turned his head. "I didn't know what to say." John looked down at where Sherlock's hands were gripping the sheets, and noted how tightly he was holding them. His knuckles had gone completely white, and when he spoke there was an obvious tremor in his voice. "I remember how tired you looked. How unhappy you were. And I was the cause of it."

Sherlock then looked up and met John's gaze. His eyes were red rimmed and watery, much like John's own. He'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about that dreadful argument for months, repressing any emotion that arose when the argument even began to cross his mind. Of course that was impossible to do now. Sherlock swallowed hard and shook his head, looking away again.

"I tried, John. I really did. But I knew then that I would never be good enough for you. I act normally and you accuse me of not sharing enough of my life with you. I try and make a romantic gesture and it all goes to shit. I realised you would be so much better off without me, so I let you go. There is an old saying that begins with the phrase if you love something, you set it free. That's exactly what I did. I disappeared, stayed away from Baker Street as long as I could because I couldn't bear the thought of being there when you weren't, and- John?"

John had felt the tears welling up, and had been trying his hardest to keep any from spilling over his eyelids. However, one had managed to and though he'd tried to swipe at it as discreetly as he could, Sherlock had seen the gesture and turned his head. When his eyes landed on John his face instantly paled and his eyes widened. John cleared his throat and shook his head.

"I'm sorry it's just ... you said you loved me. It's just been so long since I've heard you say that."

"No."

"What?"

"Love."

"I-"

"John, if I'm laying everything on the table here I might as well tell you ..." Sherlock sucked in a breath and lifted his eyes to meet John's. "I still love you with all of my heart."

John let out a sound that resembled a choked sob and hung his head. His hands were balled so tightly into fists his knuckles were the same colour as Sherlock's, and he was shaking from the effort not to cry. Sherlock loved him. After all they'd been through, everything that had happened, the love of his life still loved him.

"John, I'm sorry, I-"

"Why didn't you say anything? I know I didn't really let you speak that night but, when I came back-"

"What was I supposed to say, John? Don't go, I still love you? I don't know who I am if I don't have you by my side? That a world in which I am not married to you is not a world in which I wish to live?"

"Yes," John said, reaching down to run a hand through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. John sniffed and held his breath as he bent down. "That's exactly what you're supposed to say." John leant down the rest of the way and sealed his lips over Sherlock's. He didn't respond for the briefest of moments, but then his lips were soft and pliant just how John remembered them, and then there was a hand on his thigh and he had to pull away because this was all happening way too fast for his mind to keep up with. Sherlock kept his eyes closed for a moment after they parted, and when he opened them the only emotion John could make out on Sherlock's face was confusion. His brow furrowed as he stared at John.

"I..."

"It's been so long since you told me you loved me. And you were going to make me go the rest of my life without hearing that again! You bastard."

"John I'm, I'm sorry?"

"No, I am. I love you Sherlock." When John said this Sherlock closed his eyes again and bit his lip. John let out another sigh. "I love you so much, and I'm never leaving you again. You can be sure of that." Sherlock opened his eyes and began shaking his head.

"John, I honestly thought you'd stopped loving me by now." John let out a 'hmph' and rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Sherlock, loving you isn't something I chose to do, loving you hasn't always been the easiest thing to do, but my god, I couldn't stop if I tried." Sherlock's eyes instantly lit up and he gave John a small smile.

"Those were part of your wedding vows." John just nodded, then bent down for another kiss. Sherlock willingly obliged, and this time they only parted when someone cleared their throat behind them. John turned to see the first nurse he'd encountered standing awkwardly by the door, clipboard in hand.

"Sorry to interrupt but, I've been told to check his vitals again. For the chart." John hopped down from the bed with only a bit of reluctance. He was alright with stopping now, because he now knew he and Sherlock would have plenty of time for it later.


End file.
